Porcelain
by ingridsuperstar
Summary: "The pearls sat tight on her petite neck, feeling more like a noose than a necklace." She had New York City at her feet, until she woke up lonely. My, what has become of Blair Waldorf?
1. I

_Notes from the author - _Hello fellow Upper Eastsiders, and thank you for stumbling upon my little story :) A while back I had an idea, and so I just went for it. _Porcelain _is a futuristic story, but its subject matter develops directly after Chuck leaves Blair in 'O Brother, Where Bart Thou?' After that episode, my creativity comes to play so disregard anything past it. Although this chapter may not show it, this IS a Chuck/Blair story. Just bear with me. Rated mature, for reasons obvious later. Any more questions, ask away. Enjoy.

I don't own anything. Except a severe obsession with a certain Bass.

_Porcelain _

"Heard the rattle from the chains.  
This goddamn room it gets so small sometimes.  
I had a dream that you were gone.  
Woke up and you were gone."  
- _Silver Coin, _Angus & Julia Stone

* * *

"I told Norman that we were bound to be triumphant, that is if he did not drink our revenue himself before we were given the chance."

The table roared with laughter. Glasses were raised, then clinked, then rested. The waiter replenished the long empty flutes of the patrons with sparkling white zinfandel. Forks silently toyed with the gnocchi di ricotta on the porcelain plates. Napkins shifted in their folds atop every individual's lap. It was the song that Blair Waldorf-Baizen had heard twenty thousand times before this evening.

And, as she had every song before, she chimed with quiet laughter and took another sip of her wine.

Her husband, the now infamous Carter Baizen, swayed in the seat to the right of her.

The night's dining offered its congratulations to the Baizen & Branson Inc. going international. Founded just four years previous, the names of Carter Baizen and Norman Branson had successfully conceived and developed one of the most prestigious up-and-coming wine and liquor industries in the country.

Carter smirked, and casually slung his arm around this back of Blair's seat. She shifted slightly and awkwardly in the chair, feeling the coolness of his touch against her shoulder. His eyes flashed, and he retracted his arm to return to his glass.

He was drunk enough already.

Blair watched him tilt the glass backwards, before waving down the cameriere for more of his own product.

It was late; far later than she had intended to stay out for drinks and dinner. In years past, Blair had always made it her staple to be among the last to arrive, and the last to leave. Now, she could feel her eyelids growing heavy and she began stifling yawns at anytime later than midnight. Midnight had come and gone an hour ago.

Around her the carbon copies of society enjoyed their meals carelessly. The table had been set for twenty-four, and all two dozen inebriations were in place. Had they been made of porcelain, their faces would crack from the elaborate smiles they painted on for Manhattan to see. But underneath all of the skin treatments money could buy, there were secrets. Secrets that would shatter the shiny exterior they showed off. Blair knew.

Just diagonal to her, opposite her husband, sat his partner in business Norman Branson, with his wife Shelby. The two were practically photogenic in their appearance, but Blair knew. Underneath the David Yurman cuffs, Blair knew there was the perfect dark purple shade of Norman's mighty hand around Shelby's tiny wrist. It caught her eye when raising the toast earlier at dinner.

Blair took another, longer sip of her wine.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Clarice Burke, with her husband Sergio. The redheaded diamond tycoon looked as rehearsed as ever, when Blair overheard her in the powder room stall scheduling her abortion for the following week, in Maine. The story she told her husband varied greatly. She was simply taking a spa day in Nantucket, a sure sign that the soon-to-be-deceased fetus growing inside of her did not share Sergio's DNA. Blair fought back the urge to vomit for the second time that evening as Clarice downed her wine. It was despicable in her condition, no matter if it was to be terminated or not.

And there sat Blair in the middle of the performance.

Whether she liked it or not, these were the people that had been appointed to her as companions.

The best society had to offer.

But secrets were not exclusive to her acquaintances. It was only half an hour ago that Blair, who stared listlessly at her spotless plate, was heaving in the lavatory. The forty dollar plate of cherry crepes disappeared with the pressure of her hand on the knob. And when the whole morbid event was done, she had simply exited the stall, adjusted her appearance, popped a mint and returned to her spot at the table. Carter had hardly noticed her absence.

Her hair hung in loose, dark curls around her face, just the way Carter liked it. She wore a gold cap-sleeved tailored dress by Escada, with rose colored Max Kibardin strappy sandals. And around her neck, there hung a delicate single string of freshwater pearls. They were a gift from her husband on the Mother's Day last. The pearls had always been too tight, yet she didn't dare ask Carter to return them for resizing. Instead, they sat snug around her petite neck the entire night, feeling more like a noose than a necklace.

The evening was winding down, when Carter gathered the attention of the table.

"I would like to thank you all again for joining me this evening, to celebrate our fiscal success." His voice was slurring; the glass teetered in his hand, and Blair watched it cautiously. "A toast -" The glass was raised higher. The rest of the table followed suit, including rather reluctantly, Blair. She pasted the same idiotic smile on her face that shined back at her from all angles. Suddenly, she felt Carter's free hand slip down in between her thighs. Her eyes widened as she crossed her legs quickly, her cheeks rosy. No one noticed, thankfully.

"A toast," He repeated. "To American royalty."

"I'll drink to that!" Chimed in Norman. The others laughed vicariously, downing the last of their wine and gathering themselves.

All Blair wanted to do was disappear.

* * *

"You weren't one for conversation tonight."

Blair steadied her intoxicated husband to the street outside of the restaurant, where the limo waited. She cleared her throat at his comment.

"I was tired."

The driver rounded the car to open the door. Carter all but fell inside, Blair slipping in after him.

Carter scoffed, eyeing her lazily. "Yeah…. Alright."

_Be more convincing_. "I was." She urged, forcing a small smile. "It was a rather eventful day. Alexis's ballet instructor called and requested that I bring her by after she got out of school for her photos, when they were originally scheduled for Wednesday. As you can imagine, I had to cancel my appointment with Marina at Fred Segal this afternoon, and practically comb the isle of Manhattan for someone who would alter Alexis's costume on such short notice and with the alloted amount of time-"

"Alright, that's enough." Carter's hand held up and she fell silent. "I stopped giving a shit around ballet."

She watched him lean over to the icebox, and pull out a flask. He poured the concoction in to a spare glass. He caught her watching.

"What? You got a problem with me drinking now?" His tone of voice wasn't something she wanted to provoke.

"I didn't say a word." She sighed and turned towards the window, watching 71st Street zoom past her.

"I didn't think so." He chuckled menacingly, taking a swig of his tonic. "And could you try not to look so stiff at dinner? It makes you look like a frigid bitch."

_It's only the bourbon talking. It's only the wine talking. It's only the tonic talking._

Her hand balled up in her lap. She felt the tips of her fingernails dig into her palm; the pain soothed her.

The rest of the limo ride felt like hours, rather than minutes. When the driver opened the door, she climbed out, breathing for the first time since the restaurant. Her husband inched his way off the seat, practically falling in the street. The driver shot down to help him up, as did Blair, but he laughed it off. Pulling out a fifty dollar bill and placing it in the driver's hand, he wished him a nice night. Then they entered, his arm tightly wound over Blair's shoulder as she helped him stagger into the building.

She avoided the shotty eyes of the Crowne staff, as their whispers echoed off of the marble floors. As soon as she was inside the elevator, she leaned her husband's weight against the mirrored walls. His eyes were fluttering, a sure sign that he was soon to be dead to the world. The last sip of his tonic dripping out of the side of his mouth was revolting, but she was still his wife and he was still her husband. She pulled a handkerchief gently out of his coat pocket and wiped his lip. His crooked tie urged her to straighten it, and she followed suit.

There. A vast improvement.

He smiled against the glass. His eyes opened slightly, and he pulled her closer to him.

"I love that dress. Or rather, I love you in that dress."

His hand found its way down her back, molding to her ass.

Blair couldn't help but smile.

"Well, you should. You bought it."

He murmured something she didn't comprehend, and before she knew it, his lips were pressed aggressively against hers. Hard liquor and Montauk wild oysters. She kissed back, of course, but his hands were finding their way to the zipper of her skintight dress.

"Carter- Carter, please."

Anger boiled inside of him. "You're my wife, suddenly I can't touch you?"

"Of course you can. It's just you know Alexis is going to be waiting up for us, she hasn't seen you all day." She avoided the eyes that were just inches away from hers. Instantly, his hands were released off of her. She had angered him.

_Explain yourself._

"I just don't want the elevator door to open, and Alexis to see us you know-"

She suddenly felt his hands on her shoulders. Without warning, her head hit the mirrored wall behind her. A shot of throbbing pain. Before she could contain herself, a small gasp escaped.

"Would you rather let her see us like this?" No remorse. No sympathy. Just that small, sinister smirk.

Ding.

"Now get up, I don't want our daughter to see her mother in such a mess."

He stepped out before she had a chance to compose herself. But, she was still Blair Waldorf. So she did what she did every other night. She stood up on her stilettos, and straightened her dress. She turned to fix her hair in the mirror. And she stepped out of the elevator into their happy home.

Carter was already on his knees, his daughter wrapped in his arms. Her bright smile lit up the dark foyer, or rather his bright smile lit up the foyer. She was the spinning image of her father. Same narrow, hazel eyes, same dark hair, same crooked smile. People say that having children changes you, but they don't stress it enough. Once Blair had healed from the birth, and spent six hours a day in a private gym with a trainer named Sigmund, she couldn't imagine loving anything more. Then, when baby Shelton came along, and the whole process was repeated, she couldn't imagine loving anything else just as equally.

Alexis giggled, and almost instantaneously, Blair felt the throbbing pain in the back of her head diminish slightly.

"Butterfly, what are you doing awake?" Carter slurred and tickled her, and she laughed louder in her silk purple pajamas. The nickname 'Butterfly' was something Blair wholly admitted to loving. He had called Alexis that the moment she was released from the maternity ward. It was a lot more endearing without a bottle of Lambrusco behind it.

"But Father, I was just so happy to see you I couldn't sleep!"

Blair saw Carter's eyes advert to their Belgium housekeeper, Nanette, who quietly nodded in agreement with the child. "Tis true, Meester Baizen. She could no sleep a wink." Blair knew that Nanette knew. She met her eyes.

Blair stepped forward, patting Alexis on the head. "Alright, well, it's time for bed now. You've got schooling tomorrow."

Alexis groaned. "Must I? I wanted to stay up and watch VH1." Blair chuckled for a moment, before remembering how terrible VH1 was for a developing mind. Her daughter's eyes met her own, and she just nodded curtly.

"Bedtime, darling." She bent down and kissed her on both cheeks, before patting her towards the stairs that led to the sleeping quarters. Obeying, she disappeared into the elevation.

"And Shelton?" Blair folded her arms, and turned to Nanette.

"He is sleeping like little baby that he is." Nanette smiled. "I give him bottle around eight o'clock."

Blair sighed, relieved. "Thank you, Nanette. You are dismissed."

Nanette gave a small curtsy, and bustled her way down the hallway to her maid's chamber.

They were alone again.

Carter was leaning, only half conscious, against the burgundy wall of the foyer. She took this as an opportunity to end things for the night.

"I'm going to bed."But before she could turn on her heel, he had her wrist. Instantly, she flashbacked to the dinner they shared less than an hour ago. Shelby's arm.

"I want you."He growled in her ear.

The smell of the alcohol on his breath was overwhelming.

"You're drunk." She simply stated, in such a way that should have ended the pursuit right then and there. But this was Carter Baizen.

He snickered without any hint of humor in his voice. "Like that's ever stopped me before." Without an inch of care or concern, he threw his arm around her and yanked her into him.

Fatigue was kicking in. Her toes ached in her heels, and her neck fell back listlessly against his hands.

"Not tonight… I can't tonight. Please not tonight…"

His hand caught hold of her delicate brown hair, jerking her head back forcefully. Her mouth gapped open, but she quieted the cry that rose up in her throat.

"That wasn't a request."

_It's only the bourbon talking. It's only the wine talking. It's only the tonic talking._

Quicker than she could comprehend, she was lying on the California king-sized bed that the two shared. Carter hovered over her, eyes lazy but determined. He had already removed his tie, and had moved on to undoing his leather belt. She sank into the golden Isabella Collection comforter effortlessly, staring straight at the exquisite tray ceiling. The belt was thrown carelessly to the side, and he was sliding down the tailored Hugo Boss dress pants. But she kept her visions to the sky; she never realized how intricate the ceiling of their master quarters was. Every night she climbed into this same bed, and every morning she climbed out of it, never paying it any mind. But lying here now, she felt she could stare at it for hours. The fabric of her dress no longer touched her thighs. Inching, it rose over her slender hips, over her stomach and up her ribcage, revealing the scarlet La Perla intimates she wore underneath. Her arms rose mechanically over her head as, in one swift motion, the dress was disposed of. Had she been attentive, she would have mentally noted to tell the maid to take it to the cleaners at once the following morning, or risk the material crinkling. But that would be if she was paying attention. Instead, she kept her eyes on the swirling golden of the crown molding. His hands were on her now. They weren't gentile in their explorations; his fingertips dug into her. Had she been attentive, she would wince. His aggressive growls echoed off of the bedroom walls. She closed her eyes, for just a moment…

How her life had become so progressively tragic was entirely unanswerable.

The holy matrimony of Carter Baizen and Blair Waldorf had not always been so ill-fated. She was only twenty-two years old when he proposed, on the steps of the Metropolitan Opera one winter evening. Of course, her answer had not been an immediate "I do!" She politely asked for a night to think, assuring him her answer would be yes.

When the limo dropped her off at the end of the date, and she kissed him goodnight, Blair burst into tears and all but sprinted to the elevator, greeted by Dorota's arms when she arrived at her floor. Her mother and Cyrus heard the commotion and ran in, fear in their eyes. It took her around half an hour for her sobs to lower their decibels and for her to actually form sentences. She had lain like a child in her mother's lap, Dorota stroking her hair, and Cyrus fetching her hot Chai imported tea.

That's when she told them – Carter proposed.

Eleanor had laughed nervously when she heard that this was the cause of commotion. After all, Blair had been in a seemingly healthy relationship with Carter for over three years. It shouldn't have come to any shock or blow that Carter would want to move things between the two of them to the next level. But a wave of realization overcame Blair the moment Carter bent down to one knee – if she and Carter were to be married, a chapter in her life would be ending indefinitely. And that quintessential chapter was Chuck Bass.

He left.

And he never came back.

Weeks after he left her, curled alone in her covers, she was certain he'd return. Months flew by. And months slowly turned to years.

She hadn't received a single phone call, a single letter, a single hint that Charles Bartholomew Bass was even still alive. Last she'd heard, some merchants for Eleanor Waldorf Designs spotted him entering a brothel in Bangladesh. When her mother told her, even though it had been a hearty year without any contact to him at all, she wept on her bedroom floor until the next morning when Dorota found her. And that had even been years past.

After some extensive therapy, courtesy of Cyrus Rose, Blair had come to the definite conclusion that she was not going to find nor save Chuck Bass. And there was no point in withering her life away, pining for lost love. So, the next morning, when Carter arrived with two dozen long stemmed white roses for breakfast, Blair accepted his proposal.

It had been a whirlwind from there on.

She felt her panties being tugged down to her knees. Stiff and awkward, Blair felt him shift his weight to perfectly mount her. She wasn't ready; too tired, dry and misused. But those were things that Carter had little concern of tonight. He grunted above her. And suddenly, she was stifling her screams.

Too fast, too rough. There wasn't enough time to process it all, before Carter was writhing and passing out on top of her. His breath became even and heavy. Blair sighed.

As she had many nights before, she struggled to roll his body to the other side of her on the bed. It wasn't even morning, and she already felt the soreness in between her thighs. Her undergarments were crumpled in the Egyptian cotton, ashamedly. She quickly retrieved them. After cleaning her husband up and getting him to properly sleep, she climbed into her acquainted side of their bed.

His back was facing her, snores and grunts echoing off of the vast walls.

Blair curled up tightly underneath the sheets. She knew it was a horrible thing to admit. Divorce was something Blair Waldorf would never do – provided her husband didn't come out as a homosexual. She knew that some things just weren't intended to last, her parents as an example to that. But it had broken her heart – the holidays, the birthdays, all without a father. She wouldn't put her children through the same misery. That is why she, horribly and admittingly, wished for dreams of Chuck Bass tonight.

And dream she did.

* * *

Did you love it? Was it dreadful? Please, review.

I already have Chapter 2 and 3 ready for reading! I just would like to hear your feedback.

Xoxo.


	2. II

_Notes from the author _- Hope everyone had as much of a dysfunctional and fattening Thanksgiving as I had :) you guys are awesome.

I don't own anything. Except a severe obsession with a certain Bass.

This distance is quite simply much too far for me to row.  
It seems farther than ever before.  
I need you so much closer.  
- _Transatlanticism_, Death Cab For Cutie

* * *

Mornings in New York City were an event.

A trial run, perhaps, to forecast the rest of the day.

An early morning jog through the winding sidewalks of Central Park and a cream cheese-covered bagel would be considered, for most New Yorkers, a great way to start the day's commute. On the other hand, a missed subway train and a spilled Italian Roast could leave a lasting stain, no pun intended, until the sunset. Blair Waldorf-Baizen firmly believed in this notion.

So when she was awakened to a smell of complete bliss coming from the kitchen, and her comatose husband's echoing snores, she silently promised to herself it would be an early-morning-jog-and-bagel kind of day; Blair style, that is. Outdoor exercise was maddening, and bagels were for Brooklynites.

It was five minutes past eight o'clock, according to her Blackberry.

She turned to Carter.

He was like a hibernating mammal; virtuously impossible to disturb. But she had to try. He was going to be late for work, a sure sign of a terrible day for everyone involved.

"Carter, it's after eight." She rubbed his bare arm.

He barely acknowledged her, shifting only slightly.

She leaned down towards him, placing her hands strategically on his back. They began to work their magic. He shifted more, groaning placidly. Purring in his ear, she slowly coaxed him out of his alcohol-induced coma. "The investors are coming by today… You don't want to be tardy."

He rose up slowly, eyes half closed. Suddenly, he was tossing her to the other side of the bed, and he was on top of her. The genuine smile that she seemingly adored, and rarely saw, was gleaming back at her. She smiled back.

"You're the best alarm clock any husband could have."

They kissed, half-naked bodies touching. It was only then that she remembered she was still wearing her lingerie from the night before. And his hands were slipping in them.

"Meester and misses Carter – oh! I sorry, I sorry!"

Their heads snapped towards the arched doorway. Nanette's hands were up around her wrinkled face. Blair felt her cheeks, and the rest of her body, getting hot.

"I only come to tell you zat breakfast iz prepared, and ze children are ready for school." Her thick French accent stuttered.

At this, Carter reluctantly rolled to the other side of the bed. His slippers were in place, and moments later, he was shut behind the two large doors that led to the bathroom.

Blair smiled awkwardly at the quivering housekeeper.

"Thank you, Nanette. We will be out shortly."

Approximately half an hour had past; all members of the Baizen family surrounded the crystal-plated breakfast table. Alexis bounded up to her mother, as she did every morning, and wrapped her tiny little arms around Blair's tiny little waist. Her hair had been straightened by Nanette, and she looked like a cupcake in her pink polka-dotted Juicy Couture long sleeved dress.

"Mother, today is Thursday!"

Blair giggled, returning her child's embrace.

"Why, yes it is! You are so smart."

Her baby boy, Shelton, was already sitting, wide-eyed, in his oak high-chair. And he took her breath away as he did every morning. She planted a crimson kiss on his bald head, and sat down in her usual seat just across from the children. Carter stumbled in tiredly only moments later, clad in Armani and drenched in Acqua Di Gio.

"Father, today is Thursday." Alexis said matter-of-factly, grinning from ear to ear.

Carter looked at her, "Ah. So it is."

Nanette stepped forward, and instantly three chefs were filling the table with silver trays and wares.

"Zis morning's menu includes Norwegian waffles, served with a lemon whipping cream and fresh strawberries, and a roasted asparagus and goat cheese omelette. Bon appétit." With a glossy smile, the plump French maid hurried off into the kitchen.

Alexis's fork and knife were already hard at work.

"Tonight is the Sunshine Guild's benefit." Carter said, a mouth filled with egg. The napkin he kept in his lap rose to dab his lips.

Blair remembered. The Sunshine Guild of New York City was a non-profit organization, whose existence was to persuade all major cooperation's high rise buildings to convert to solar power during daylight hours. Baizen & Branson Inc. was a huge newly-acquainted investor, as well as the drink provider for the evening's festivities. The dress code for the event was notoriously strict. The men must wear a yellow tie or handkerchief, and the women must wear a matching yellow gown.

"I already had my assistant call Barney's, Bergdorf's and Bendel's to have all of the yellow gowns they have on inventory at your disposal this afternoon." He downed his orange juice.

Blair smiled. "Thank you dear, that was very thoughtful of you."

"Oh, mother! Can I please come to the party? Please?" Alexis chimed in from across the table. Blair gazed into her big brown eyes, full of excitement and wonder. Her tiny hands cupped each other, begging for an answer.

"This party is for grown-ups, darling." Blair chuckled.

Seeing the disappointment in her daughter's eyes, Blair quickly saved the conversation. "But, I've got an idea. Why don't we help Mother find something to wear, and take a day off from school?" All disappointment disappeared. Her child's eyes lit up like Christmas morning. She squealed with delight.

"Oh, yes Mother! Today is going to be so fun!" Her fork and knife hit the plate, and in a dash, she was running back to her room with her matching Juicy backpack. Blair watched her, ignoring her husband's quiet angry eyes burning into the side of her face.

Carter stabbed his waffle with his fork; the noise caused Blair to jump slightly.

"I pay $40,000 a semester for that school she goes to. You take her out of it too much." His voice was a hushed scold. Blair simply toyed with her omlette. She dared not speak; she just kept her eyes on her plate of food that hadn't been touched. Silence overtook the table. When Blair looked up, Nanette was feeding the baby, her eyes nervously twitched between Carter and Blair. Reddening with embarrassment, Blair sucked in her cheeks and put down her fork that she had yet to use.

"It's just that I don't feel like I get to spend a lot of time with the children. That's all." She didn't dare look him in the eyes, but she didn't need to, to know his reaction. He shot up from his chair, throwing the napkin in his lap on his plate.

Between a mouth full of waffle, he spat at her. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Blair?"

Blair's head dropped. Just above a whisper, she answered. "We're just gone so much, at night. And with Alexis in school, and Shelton in Nanette's care all day, I just don't feel like I'm being a fit mother. Please sit down." She glanced up for just a moment.

"And you think that's my fault, do you?" His voice rose daringly.

"That's not – that's _not _what I said, Carter. Now please sit down, you're scaring the baby." It was true. Shelton had begun to cry; Nanette comforted him from her stool perched next to the high chair. Next thing she knew, Carter's hand slammed up against the flute of freshly squeezed orange juice and knocked it clear off of the table, sending it slamming into the deep purple walls. Blair squeezed her eyes shut.

"Fuck it. I'll have someone run me something to eat at work." He mumbled, already taking his coat off of the back of his chair at the dining room table. Shelton began to cry louder. All Blair could do was comfort him from across the table, which she hated herself for. Paralyzed to the polished oak frame underneath her, she was genuinely terrified to get up. Something in Carter's voice demanded her to stay put.

After the slamming of the door, so loud that it made Shelton scream and her jump, Blair sighed unevenly. The perfect breakfast was now in shambles, humorlessly without her taking so much as a bite of it. She looked around the table helplessly as Nanette scrambled to fetch a broom and carpet cleaner to tidy the mess Carter made. Blair did something she rarely ever did; she rose to her slippered feet and began gathering up the untouched plates and silverware. When Nanette returned, she gasped.

"Miss Blair, please! I'vill get it v'once I am done with ze broken glass."

Blair felt hot tears of embarrassment pool her eyes, as Nanette dropped her supplies and took the items from her hands. With a watery smile, Blair shook her head. "I apologize, Nanette. He must have a terrible headache from last night."

Nanette just nodded. But Blair knew she knew.

This was not the first time Carter had been outraged in front of Nanette. Nor would it be the last.

So Blair thanked her for the lovely breakfast and returned to her bedchamber to dress herself for the day. The prospect of retail and swiping her gold card was enough to maybe salvage the day.

Maybe.

* * *

Avenue of the Americas was far too crowded. Blair, dressed head to toe in Milly Kelsey and topped off with a black pillbox hat, felt the breath of the tourists and foreigners around her and it was suffocating. Not to mention, not a single item had been purchased for the Sunshine Guild's benefit. Amidst the fanny packs and flashing disposable cameras, her little girl tugged at her hand. Blair glanced down.

Big, brown eyes begged for her attention. "I'm starving, Mother."

Looking around, Blair clutched the handles of her black Lady Dior structure bag. The options were middling. Attempt the impossible and dare walk in the nearest McDonald's during lunch hour? The answer was an obvious, resounding no. UrbanSpoon pointed her towards Two Sticks Sushi Bar on West 53rd Street.

Once in her limo, she called to reserve a table, only to hear the little Asian girl on the other end tell her that the wait was two and a half hours long. A problem, if you were anyone but Blair Waldorf-Baizen. A little name dropping and three minutes later, a booth was booked for her and her daughter.

"Mother?"

The little voice beside her sang curiously.

"Yes, darling?"

"Why is Daddy is such a bad mood all of the time?"

The question hit Blair in the face harder than Carter ever had. Her breathing became slower and quicker all at once. Children were easily distracted – if she asked the driver to take the longer route through Times Square and by Toys R Us, surely the little one would forget she ever asked it. But glancing down into Alexis's wide brown eyes, she could see she was her Mother's child. And she wouldn't take silence for an answer.

"Well…" Blair began, organizing her thoughts to explain in one sentence, to a seven year old, what Carter had become. "Daddy's just very busy with his work."

That seemed to please her enough.

They were soon arriving at a thin, black bricked building squished purposely between two larger ones. The restaurant had no sign, no indication of whether it was indeed the sushi bar of choice. Blair just knew. The driver let them out of the car, and they sauntered inside. Lighting was dim and minimal, and the Japanese hostess wore a less-than-traditional mini-Komono. "Right this way, ladies." Alexis squeezed her hand inside Blair's and she followed the pigmy hostess down a narrow hallway. The dining area was equally as dimly lit, with Gagaku music whispering out of the unseen speakers. It was crowded, but not too crowded. Blair spotted Sienna Miller and Jude Law at a table just to the right of theirs. A place to seen and be seen. It was perfect.

Alexis, with much grace, climbed into the booth seat opposite Blair. Out of nowhere seemingly appeared an equally tiny Japanese waitress.

"You'll have?"

Blair didn't need a menu, and neither did her daughter. Sushi was something they shared a liking for, thankfully. It was better than her child getting premature cellulite from a Burger King kid's meal. "A maya roll, with a cup of miso soup. And crunchy shrimp for her. Water for the both of us as well."

The waitress nodded and without a word disappeared as quickly as she came.

"Have you had fun today, Lexi?" Blair asked, noticing her daughter fidgeting.

Her little brown head nodded rapidly. "Yes, Mother. Can we get ice cream next?"

"Darling, it's frigid outside. But we'll see." Vibrations erupted from her bag, and Blair opened it to retrieve her phone. Her eyes absorbed the name Serena Van der Woodsen on the caller i.d. She couldn't answer quick enough.

"Blair Waldorf!" The sunny voice rang in her ear. Sudden happiness. Blair could practically hear the palm trees blowing in the ocean breeze. "Please, elaborate on things on the east coast and tell me they are as wonderful as they are in California!"

All troubles took a break. "Serena! You have no idea how wonderful it is to hear your voice!"

Seven months the two had been apart. The move from the Upper East Side to the 90210 was sudden – Nate had a golden opportunity to apply for a seat in the California State Senate. With his Columbia diploma, and family connections, all he had to do was sign the dotted line. And Serena, bronzed, blonde and bubbly, fit right in to the high tide scene. Blair, however, did not. Nate and Serena's wedding was beautiful to say the least. The nuptials were held on a private beach in Newport, where the couple now resided.

A beach wedding was one of the many scenarios Blair hoped she'd never find herself in. A heat index of 92 degrees, unbearable beating sun while she was wearing Marc Jacobs, and sand in her new white XXIS, Blair was all but ready for the "You may kiss the bride." It was a stunning wedding though, despite the fact that the backdrop was straight out of Abercrombie and Fitch. She was the maid of honor. And honorable it was. Serena looked otherworldly in Zac Posen, while Nate stood handsome in Ralph Lauren Gold. It was picture perfect, with the photographs to prove it.

Something was missing from the festivities, however.

Nate was without a best man.

And while Blair stood behind Serena, with the gulf breeze whipping thorough her brunette locks, her focus drifted in and out of the ceremony. She stared fixedly at the empty space behind Nate. She kept reminding herself that this, if not the only, day that was to be completely about Serena. Never mind the fact that her husband sat just three rows back in the crowd. Still, it saddened her greatly. And when Serena and Nate finally did kiss as husband and wife, Blair would be lying to say her tears were strictly accredited to their happiness. But she got through it. As she always had.

"Well, I am sunbathing by the pool and I'm four mimosas in. Oh!" The reception grumbled, and Blair heard Serena give her thanks to someone. "Make that five mimosas in!"

"How very California of you." Blair joked.

"What about you?" Serena laughed brightly. "Please tell me you're enjoying a cocktail and someone is wreaking havoc on your cuticles."

Blair looked down at her, perfected to a tee, French tips. "That sounds entrancing, but no such luck. I'm out shopping with Alexis."

"For anything in particular?"

"Another day, another dress." Blair sighed. "The Sunshine Guild Benefit is tonight. Carter arranged the meetings with the shops today."

Hearing the awkward silence mixed with that of seagulls was a good indication of how Serena really felt about Carter. Truth be told, she despised him, and Blair knew. "That was nice of him, I suppose." Serena spoke up.

"It was." Blair commented delicately.

Serena had been against the nuptials to Carter from the instant the engagement ring was slipped on her finger. Because, Blair supposed, Serena had been there many a night when Blair was reduced to nothing more than a sobbing heap of pajamas. It would have been nearly impossible to get through the whole ordeal without her. Serena thought Blair had rushed into things much too soon, before she was fully ready to commit. Blair argued it had been three years and she was as over "the C word" as she would ever be. Besides, Carter was just forming and molding his corporation. She had faith that she would grow old with someone who would bury her in diamonds and luxuries, and Carter had done just that so far. It was an elaborate marriage, if nothing else.

"Well, I call with just spectacular news." Serena chuckled, and Blair was glad in her doing so. A change in subject was growing necessary. "This time in two weeks, I'll be walking through Central Park with you, drinking cappuccinos and complaining about turning thirty. Can you believe it?"

Blair gasped louder than she intended to for such a quiet restaurant. "You're coming to New York? Why, when, I need every detail."

"I knew you'd be excited, B. Nate's coming as well, for Eric's birthday. The whole gang will be back together!"

Immense happiness. Blair couldn't contain her smile. "That is spectacular news, S." Suddenly, someone else was talking to Serena from the other side of the line. The voice she recognized was Nate's. Serena giggled, and returned to her conversation with Blair. "Nate came home early from work. Can I call you later?" She agreed and suddenly California wasn't singing in her ear anymore. The dial tone saddened Blair slightly. She missed Serena more than she let on to anyone. It was funny but not unexpected that Blair was the last of her friends to call New York her permanent residence. First, her mother and Cyrus's relocation to Paris, taking Dorota and her husband and child along. Then, Serena and Nate. Even the Danimal and that creature from the Hudson river Vanessa had packed their bags and were engaged in Seattle. It was all sort of sad how the tale of them ended.

The miso soup arrived and Blair chatted with her daughter over the most trivial of things. But still, Blair couldn't shake this impending feeling of pure loneliness.

It was something that hung over her for the remainder of the afternoon.

* * *

The car had been called. The reservations were long set. And Blair Waldorf-Baizen was minutes from stepping out into the magical New York night. Hair loosely secured in an elegant low bun, braided like a headband over the crwon of her head. Her makeup was fit for an evening , of course, with burgundy lips and silver eyes. All courtesy of Zja. His immensely popular salon required an appointment made six months in advance. But one phone call was made and he agreed to clear out his overbooked evening (better luck next time, Fergie) to accommodate the "fabulous Blair Waldorf".

The dress was a stunning Carmen Marc Valvo piece, canary yellow of course. Paired with the most stunning of diamond earrings, the look was sure to be a favorite of the evening. She knew this because she had seen the other society women of all ages longingly watch her as she exited Bergdorf Goodman with a tuxedoed man carrying the extravagant gown in tow. It was sure to be spread glossily in the Signature magazine's three page editorial on the event the following morning – with a radiant and beaming Blair staring back at the entire Upper East Side. She felt as close to a queen as ever.

"Honey, we are going to be late. It's nearly eight." Carter stood uneasy by the elevator, glancing at his Glashutte watch. He too was handsome in his Black Label suit, with a silk yellow handkerchief folded precisely in its pocket.

"I know, I know." Blair mumbled, not wanting to start the evening on the wrong stiletto. She stood as Nanette spritzed her with a bottle of Chanel No. 5, and then took her evening beaded clutch from the housekeeper's tiny hands. Thanking her, she turned her attention towards the stairs. "Alexis! Mommy and Daddy are leaving!"

Tiny feet were heard padding and suddenly down the banister flew her daughter, already dressed in her nightdress. She gasped upon seeing the two of them. "Mother, you look so beautiful!" Blair pulled her into the tightest hug she could muster without wrinkling her dress.

"Thank you, darling. Sleep tight tonight. You have to go back to school tomorrow, so I don't want to catch you waiting up for us." Alexis groaned, but accepted her mother's demands and a kiss on the forehead. Blair then turned her attention to a waiting Nanette.

"She can watch television for an hour more, then straight to bed. Shelton is probably due for a bottle soon. We shouldn't be out too, too late."

Nanette nodded, smiling and taking Alexis's hand. "You look beautiful, Miss. See you upon your return."

With the tug of Carter's hand on her elbow, Blair said goodnight and was whisked into the elevator.

The two stood silently for a moment, as Carter pressed the button to the ground level floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught him watching her. His eyes drifted up and down her silhouette. Suddenly, she felt extremely self conscious. It was quite a flamboyant dress. Perhaps it did not fit her as properly as she had thought? The mere notion of the idea of an unflattering dress that would lead to an unflattering photo that would lead to many unflattering conversations amongst the upscale city streets was enough to make Blair glance at herself once more in the mirrored walls of the elevator. Now that she thought about it, the taffeta bunching _was _a little snug around her middle. She immediately regretted her decision. No wonder everyone was staring at her when she left the department store.

How could she have been so blind as to think - "Blair?"

Carter cleared his throat, and Blair tore her eyes from her reflection.

"Y- yes dear?" She stammered nervously.

"You look astonishing tonight. I don't know if I told you that earlier or not."

A wave of relief swept over her. She couldn't help but grin from diamonded ear to diamonded ear. "Thank you, darling. I'm incomparable to you however, sir." She joked, as they reached their destination and stepped out of the elevator together. He put his hand on the small of her back and led her to the revolving door. The entering and exiting patrons of the Crowne building all stopped to pay their respects to Mr. and Mrs. Carter Baizen. This was a moment in which Blair remembered why she married Carter in the first place.

Stability.

Outside, the limo awaited, door already opened. The two were soon seated side by side in the back of the dark limo, accompanied only by the mini bar with a library of poisons to choose from. Carter helped himself to a glass of Macallan whiskey. He offered Blair some, but she silently refused. Instead, she picked out a thirty year old bottle of Chateau d'Yquem White and filled an empty flute to the brim. The two sipped their drinks, watching the cabs mindlessly pass outside the tinted windows.

A traffic jam on Madison Avenue put their carriage at a standstill. Some twenty minutes of silence had passed, and Blair was still sipping on her same glass of wine. But suddenly, she felt Carter shift next to her. The glass he was holding lazily fell to the floor of the limo. She had seen him refill it nearly four times already. All of a sudden, his hands were fumbling with the delicate material of her gown.

She hastily set her glass down in an empty holder. "Carter, what are you doing?"

A sinister look in his already pink eyes. He continued to touch her. "Come on, we've got some time."

"Wh- what are you talking about?" She breathed as he leaned into her, his hot lips grazing the nape of her neck. It sent shivers throughout her whole body.

"We've never done it in a limo. Strange, as many as we've been in." He was now biting her. A terrible mixture of déjà vu and panic hit her all at once. It was in truth that she knew they never had made love in the back of the limousine they relied on for all means of transportation – it had not gone unnoticed, and Blair greatly preferred to keep it the way it was. The way his hands were making their way down the front of her dress and continued to rub against her bare breasts was making her remember. She never remembered, at least if she could help it.

The last time she had made it in a limousine was another scene entirely. Less forced, more close to perfection. Rougher hands, but more precise movements, knowing exactly what to touch and how to touch it. She suddenly remembered the way his lips touched the most sensitive parts of her, in contrast to how her husband was kissing her now. And the mere thought of it terrified Blair to even think about such an experience.

Carter attempted to lay her down, but something about the way the leather was rubbing against her nearly bare back and Carter's alcohol drenched breath rolling down on her was far too nostalgic. For the last time she had laid down in the back of a limo, she had been in the hands of someone who she didn't even know anymore. Quite possibly someone who didn't even exist.

Before she could stop herself, her hand drew back and landed harshly against Carter's chest.

He grew rigid at her blow.

"I can't – I'm sorry Carter, I just can't do this – I can't." She pleaded, high pitched and panicked.

Her eyes were closed, but she didn't need them to be open to feel the anger growing inside of him.

"That's unfortunate." He snarled, and shoved himself to the farthest side of the seat. The Macallan bottle was in his hand again, and he poured himself his fifth consecutive glass. Blair cautiously, but much relieved, sat upright again. "You know, I actually thought you would be good for company tonight Blair."

Blair didn't say anything. She zipped up the inch of her dress that had somehow come undone in the bustle, unable to catch her breath completely.

"I actually thought," Carter raised his voice menacingly. "That maybe you weren't all dried up. You are good for one thing. One thing and one thing only and that is fucking me, Blair. Whenever and wherever I damn well please. And now, it seems you aren't even worth that." His words lashed into her. She closed her eyes and wished away the uncontrollable sobs that threatened to swell inside her.

All was quiet for a moment.

"DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR." Deafening, his roars filled the space, along with the slamming of his glass of whiskey against the marble counter it came from. Blair flinched in fear, and nodded as fast as she could. She tensed up, waiting for the blow that was sure to strike her at any moment. But it never came. She opened her eyes slowly, to see Carter fuming away from her, pouring the remainder of the bottle of Macallan into his flask and tucking it away in his coat pocket. For this, Blair was grateful.

She wasn't bruising or bleeding. Her hair was still intact, her makeup still flawless. With a little straightening of her dress, she would be shiny and new. No indications of any slight imperfections to the outside world of any kind. It could have been a lot worse than it occurred. A part of her felt she deserved what Carter said. She had let her mind wander; something she didn't – _couldn't _– allow herself to do. And this was the consequence she suffered for it. Not nearly as bad as she deserved, honestly. The weight of the limo shifted and the engine died. She could hear the crowd of society awaiting her just outside the doors. Flashbulbs would blind her at any second, and people would stand behind velvet black ropes and shout at her how wonderful it was to be Blair Waldorf-Baizen. Mechanically, she reached for Carter's hand, but he jerked it free. The door opened, and Carter was out of the car before Blair could blink.

She took a deep breath, hearing her name being called by a cacophony of voices.

Time to do what she was born to do. Smiling luminously, she took the hand of the driver and stepped out onto the carpeted concrete. Photographers went insane with their cameras. The compliments and questions filled her ears, but she just made her way down the lavender row to the modern doors of the Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art. She saw Carter disappear inside, and knew the night had been ruined for the both of them. All by her doing.

The crowd inside was insanely thick, and The Sunshine Guild didn't spare any cost in the decorum. Yellow fabric sheets hung vibrantly and covered the dull metal tiles of the museum in days before. Lighted perfectly, and smelling of gerbera daisies, she had to admit it was a magical setting. With no one to share the magic with. Craning her neck without so much as hinting that she was craning her neck was a hard task. She couldn't let on that there was a smidge of trouble in paradise to her surrounding cohorts. Smiling was an absolute must.

"Blair Waldorf, aren't you a vision."

The aged voice came from her right, out of nowhere completely. It was Bex Summers, a designer who came about in the same heyday as her own mother. Her designs were black to Eleanor's white. Lots of prints and lace, fit more for Ke$ha than a kept woman. But she was considered, no matter how much she rattled off her tongue, a family friend. So, Blair turned with fake expectancy and gasped.

"Bex! It's been ages. How's the new line?"

Kisses on each cheek were exchanged, Blair's Chanel perfume mixing toxically with Bex's Vivian Westwood.

"It's coming along fabulously. Just a few more sketches, and we'll be taking it to the advertisers!"

Blair pretended to care and laugh, but her eyes adverted around the ballroom searching for her husband. "That's wonderful."

"This sangria is to die for! Chilled to perfection, I'd say." Bex laughed boisterously, enjoying a swig of her third glass of the imported wine. Her attention then drew focus to their surroundings. "Speaking of, where is your timely tycoon?"

Eyes widening, Blair chuckled nervously. "Carter had to step away to the restroom. Wine runs right through him." The two shared a laugh, before Bex's index finger was pointing just over Blair's shoulder. She whipped around.

"Isn't that your Carter over there?"

Carter was standing, alone, at the bar, a fresh drink in hand. Eyes half open, eyes half closed, he fumbled in his wallet for a generous tip to a particularly attractive blonde barista.

Blair blinked. "Y- yes, I believe it is." She'd run out of excuses. "Would you excuse me?" Without really waiting for a response, she whisked herself away from an amused Bex. Once in the range of a whisper, she took him by the hand.

"What are you doing? I've been looking for you for nearly twenty minutes. We need to take our seats." She studied his twitching face, as he jerked his hand out of her own. Around them, indeed, the rest of society was taking their silk seats at the plethora of decorated long tables around the ballroom. A sure sign that dinner and the speeches were to commence. Before she knew it, he was stumbling away to find their table, without bothering to wait for his wife. Blair stood dumbfounded for a moment, but then quickly and silently followed him close behind.

Their table was second row, amongst the company of the governor of New York, patron Woody Allen, and supreme benefactor to the organization Donald Trump. The directors of the event were gathering on the stage as Carter dumped himself into his chair, and Blair pulled out her own for sitting. A few around them tried to hide their stares. Blair quickly smiled and leaned into Carter, not in the mood for smiling at all.

"Carter, this is a very important event for you. Please don't spoil it. J- just wait until we get home. You can lash out at me there, just not here, not when you are so celebrated." Under her breath, she pleaded.

He grunted and took another sip of his drink.

She took that as an understanding.

Dinner was catered by the newly opened and highly reviewed Tabla. Three courses, the first being a pumpkin rasam soup with toasted coconut sprinkled atop, followed by the main course of rice flaked halibut baked in a sun dried ginger broth. And finally, for dessert, a chocolate Thai chili soufflé that was to be the talk of the evening. While Blair enjoyed her food, the company couldn't have been colder. Her husband inhaled his meal without as much as making eye contact with her. She knew. The rest of the evening, particularly when they were in private, would not be kind to her.

Squirming in her seat, she fought to control it. That repetitive feeling that was buried deep down in her stomach, tossing and turning with every glance at Carter. If not for the 6 carat Tacori diamond that rested perfectly on her bony finger, one would assume that he _loathed _her. She didn't know exactly what she had done – but then again, she did. She had married Carter Baizen; her heart did not. The faint possibility that she didn't love Carter was enough to make Blair excuse herself from the table. The closing speech from The Sunshine Guild's founder was just beginning, and Blair sidled herself away from the tables to the exiting hallways that led to the rest of the closed museum. Finding the nearest bathroom, she all but threw herself inside.

Empty, thank goodness.

She couldn't reach the stall fast enough. Her knees hit the black tile, arm mechanically rising. The simple, innocent point of her right index finger. And before she knew it, it was prodding down her throat.

The heaves were unbearably painful, as they always were. Her stomach growled and ached for her to stop. But the undigested meal made its second appearance of the night, and with one swift motion of her hand on the knob, it was all gone.

She sat there for a moment, shaking uncontrollably, gasping for air.

Terrified to move, but remembering who she was and who was expecting to speak with her after the dinner was over, she gathered herself. The whole sordid routine of hiding any evidence inaugurated.

No one would suspect a thing.

* * *

"Blair, darling, there you are! Where did you disappear off to?" Bex, drunk and becoming more disorderly by the sip, was the first person she ran into when entering the ballroom once more. Her arm was slung around, most inappropriately, Carter who stared at Blair with the blankest of stares.

Blair avoided his glare. "I took a trip to the ladies room." Simply stated, she smiled brightly.

"Wasn't that soufflé wonderful, darling? If I had a few more of these in me," Bex held up her drink with her free hand. "I would have the courage to ask for second helpings!" She boomed with laughter, arm still lazily resting around Carter's shoulders.

"It was delightful. My compliments to the baker at Tabla. We should be sure to make a reservation there soon, darling." Fighting the awkwardness, she smiled almost desperately at Carter.

Much relief when he answered. "I'll be sure to relay that request to my assistant." Bex laughed, as did he and she, but something about Carter's voice sent a chill up her spine. She was pleased to find, rarely enough, that there was no drink in Carter's hands. They rested in his pants pockets.

Carter cleared his throat, eyes still mechanically on Blair. "I have a busy day at the office tomorrow. Mind if I check our coats and call it an evening?"

_Yes_. "No, of course not." Blair said, her voice far too high pitched and restricted to be her own.

"Good. I'll come for you shortly. Excuse me, ladies." Unwinding himself from Bex's grasp, he disappeared in the sea of suits. Bex began to drone on and on about how incredibly huge platformed sandals were to be the up-and-coming spring, and Blair merely nodded whenever she got the chance. But something else was catching her attention. A crowd was gathering by the entrance, but for what, Blair couldn't quite see. Whoever it was, was quite the guest. Practically lightening like, the cameras were going off almost synchronized. People were shouting, and then whispering amongst their circle of acquaintances. Gasps rounded about, and Blair stood at the very back of the hundreds of guest who were struggling to catch a peek. Bex's attention was caught soon after. "I wonder who that could be. You know, I heard that Brangelina were to make a grand entrance at some point during the night. Or maybe Jay-Z and Beyonce, they both wrote an enormous check earlier this week to the foundation." Blair somehow guessed that it was neither of the two. People wore looks of utter shock and disbelief. Standing as high as her Manolos would allow, she only barely made out the heads of people in front of her. Two newly signed Elite supermodels stood tall, their hands raised over their mouths discussing what was taking place.

It only took one name.

The hushed curve of someone's lips forming two perfectly pronounced syllables.

"It couldn't be…"

"He has some stones showing up here after all this time."

"Russia was kind to him, I see."

"Russia? I thought he was in Portugal."

"Who cares? I wonder if he's single…"

Two syllables, two names. A first and a last.

"Well, if it isn't Chuck Bass risen from the grave." That was all she heard, all she cared about, all she feared the most.

* * *

I know, you hate me. Chuck Bass is just sentences away and I end the chapter. There is so much that is about to happen though! Sincerely appreciate all your reviews. Just a statistic though - the first chapter had 787 hits. Imagine if all of those were reviews! I want to get to fifty before Chapter 3. Let's make it happen, Upper East Siders. Until next time...

Xoxo.


	3. III

_Notes from the author - _And you thought all your Christmas presents had been unwrapped :) this is long overdue, but with finals week, a computer crash, and now the holidays I have been overloaded with stress. Plus, while the chapter was finished, it needed some finishing touches. I didn't want to give you guys an unfinished product. But now it's done, and it's short and all but sweet. But you'll see for yourself :) Read on, minions, read on.

I don't own anything. Except a severe obsession with a certain Bass.

"Fallen to earth, gone in the morning  
Only to return without warning  
I should have wished when I had the chance  
Gone like the water, in my hand."  
- _Anything_, Fran Healy

* * *

"Excuse me for a moment, will you? I think I left my clutch in the bathroom."

It was the best she could come up with. A millisecond was all she had to think.

She didn't wait for Bex's answer, and chose to ignore the fact that her Lauren Merkin python clutch was tucked perceptibly under her arm. For in that moment, something washed over her. She couldn't feel her own heart beating; in fact, she felt completely and wholly empty. A shell of the eighteen year old she once was.

She couldn't face herself, and she wouldn't face him.

Bex opened her mouth to speak, but Blair was fifteen steps to the bathroom by that point. The whispers and gasps had faded away and were replaced by the dull humming of the air conditioning of the bathroom.

Slamming her clutch down on the counter, she leaned into the sinks, staring at herself in the mirror. A terrified girl stared back at her. Never in twenty million years would she have ever expected him to come back. And so unannounced, so improper. There were no articles, no text message – hell, even Gossip Girl, whose posts were few and far between now, was sure to expose such a fragile situation. Nothing. Yet, here he was. Arriving solo at a charity event after missing in action for nine long years. It was so not like Chuck Bass.

If she saw him…. if she caught a glimpse of his face…

Blair was suddenly overcome by heaves and threw herself into an empty stall behind her. She leaned into the white porcelain bowl, waiting for the waves to pass. But they never did. She dry heaved for a few more moments before realizing she had nothing left to give up. Defeated, she stood and pointlessly flushed the toilet, returning to the mirror.

Her Blackberry told her it was nearly midnight.

She wondered if Carter had heard about Chuck's arrival.

Assumingly, she thought not. He was pouring himself another Chivas Royal for the road, and feeling up the coat clerk. Her hand trembled as she brought it to her face. She still looked perfect, but somehow she knew that wasn't good enough for him.

But one thing and one thing alone were certain. She couldn't very well hide out in the lavatory all night, though if given the choice, she would have barricaded the door. Her escape would need proper execution, proper planning.

Without another moment of thought, the door was closing behind her.

* * *

It was a clandestine move, as she swept through the shades of yellow masses without so much as looking up. Any eye contact would be scourge the attempt entirely. Once she made it out of the building, she would simply wait on the steps for her husband. The wait would be torturous; that within the building she had just exited was him. Not just him, but _him_. Her him. But she would go back to their penthouse and figure out what to do from there. Not here, though. Anywhere but here.

She could see the marble archway that led to the door. It was within eyesight. Just a few more steps until…

"Blair, you are truly a vision." The voice was direct and important... She had no choice but to stop. Swallowing discretely as to prevent from choking, she turned around and pasted on a burgundy smile.

"Mayor Bloomberg, so nice to see- "

There he stood. Next to the authoritative mayor of New York City, Michael Bloomberg, who smiled with the anticipation of her greeting. The darkest brown eyes that sucked the life out of her. Her eyes adjusted to renew the painting etched in her subconscious of his features. The same boy that she had once promised forever to, only matured in a way that could only be explained as beautiful. He stood gallantly in his dark Prada suit, more muscle, more stability than she had ever remembered. But the same smirk, the same parade, the same presence that he once had. She was staring into the face of a ghost.

"You." The word came out miraculously without any breath support at all. She feared that she would faint, dramatically and cinematic, like in an old Humphrey Bogart movie. But she chose confidence, as much as she could muster rather. Stiffening her gate and straightening her back, she tried as effortlessly as possible to look unfazed by his company.

His eyes were locked permanently to her.

She fought her own and kept them on Mayor Bloomberg, who was going on about the enormous amount of money that the Sunshine Guild had raised that evening. "Somewhere between sixty and seventy thousand, I am told!" He laughed heartily, patting the statuesque figure next to him on the back. "Of course, a good third of that came from this gentleman. Blair, have you been introduced to Mr. Charles Bass?"

Blair didn't blink. "No sir, I do not believe I have."

There was a brief moment, before Chuck politely took Blair's hand and kissed it. His eyes still bore into hers. "The pleasure is mine."

The voice was what struck her the hardest. As smooth, as daunting as she remembered. She was soaked in the liquid of his raspy word. It was deeper, much, much deeper. And she was drowning.

"Mine as well." Why couldn't her voice be equally intoxicating?

Chuck suddenly turned to the mayor and shook his hand. "Well, Mayor, I have some business to take care of. If you'll excuse me…" Then he turned to Blair and simply nodded.

A nod.

Surely this wasn't it.

After nine years of absence, not a letter, not a phone call, not a word of his whereabouts, she was only worth a mere nod? But what did she really expect? Him to take her in his arms, throw her down and kiss her like she'd never been kissed before? She was married. He was different. They didn't even know each other anymore.

She smiled which morphed unintentionally into a grimace and nodded back.

Chuck brushed past her, and she inhaled his Clive Christian No. 1 cologne. His favorite, she remembered. Suddenly, her hand was discretely being forced open at her side. She whipped her head around, but Chuck had already disappeared into the crowd. Opening her palm, a folded up napkin rested boldly. She bid farwell to the mayor, kisses planted on both of his cheeks, and once alone at last opened the napkin.

_Meet me in the exhibit in three minutes. _

Paranoia. She looked over her shoulder and took in her surroundings. Mindless chatter of the aristocrats to their respected associates. The exchange had gone unnoticed. She sucked her cheeks in and took a huge, ragged breath; the first real dose of oxygen since Chuck's mysterious arrival some fifteen minutes ago. There were two ways the events following could play out.

She could find Carter amidst the crowd; link her arm in his, whisper in his ear and head for the awaiting limo on the curb. She would drink another glass of champagne on the way to their abode, and then rub her hand across his knee. Drunk as he was, he would react more than favorably. They would stumble over to the elevator, make out the whole way to the top and arrive to a dark foyer. Blair would fumble around in the dark for the light switch, and make a dash to the bedroom. Without a word, she would straddle him, not looking directly into his glazed eyes but just over his head to the gold stitching beneath him. And she would make the most unattached, indulgent love to him – all while completely forgetting about Chuck Bass.

Or, she could give in to the crumbling feeling in the pit of her stomach and hurry to the exhibits. She did, after all, have only three minutes. Now only two minutes and eighteen seconds. She knew that if she didn't choose the latter, she would regret it until the last day of her life.

Those were odds she didn't wish to defy.

* * *

The scarlet red velvet rope that separated the darkened hallways of the galleries from the ballroom festivities mimicked the scarlet red hue of her cheeks. A small gold plated sign read, "Exhibit strictly off limits." What was left of her former self scoffed at the instructions. Blair had rarely ever listened to signs, and she wasn't about to start on this evening.

She could hardly believe her bravado.

Her fists, which wound tightly around her clutch, trembled with the mere anticipation of what was to come. With ease, she brushed through the narrow space between the wall and the rope. The space was illuminated only by security lights, dim and pre-cautious. Three minutes somehow felt like three lifetimes. She wasn't interrogated or followed to the back of the ballroom, for that she was thankful. But she knew it wouldn't be long before Carter began to look for her. Long she couldn't stay. But she just had to say something.

What she would say, however, was another complication entirely.

Engrossed in her thoughts, she spotted the first of the row of local art that dwindled down to a larger rotunda and broke off towards the more famous pieces. It was a heart, she was sure. But so abstract, so scattered and bleeding out on the canvas, it looked more like a massacre. If she kept staring at it, she knew she would rip it off of the wall, therefore setting off a silent alarm, therefore notifying security of her trespassing and therefore spotlighting her for the secrecy of her intentions her. But she _hated _it. No one even deserved the pain caused to look at such an idea, much less feel it. And continue to feel it every day of their life.

"It's painted from life experiences."

Hair stood straight on the nape of her neck. She was choking, she was sure of it. Yet, her lungs continued to work properly. Still, the sensation of being lightheaded didn't go away. He was behind her.

The painting in front of her seemed almost like a mirror, with her completely invisible, but reflecting the image of Chuck behind her. What he had done to her, how he had made her feel. Her eyes blinked rapidly and uncontrollably. "Whoever painted it must have gone through something heart wrenching."

"Yes, I imagine so." Though he was a good four or five feet away, she presumed, she was positive she could feel his breath on her back as he spoke. It was soothing, but not at all welcomed. Closing her eyes as to stop their constant fluttering, she twirled around to face him. He stood vulnerable, his hands in his coat pockets, eyes soft and lips softer. Like a watercolor. A work of art that belonged on display along with the other countless, priceless works of art that made a namesake for this museum. She knew that if given the chance, she could focus on just his face in this moment for days. But reality tugged her back down from her fanciful clouds, and she knew she only had minutes if that.

The point of her meeting him. "What are you doing here?"

He chuckled lightly. "My publicist thought this would be a beneficial and charitable way to announce my arrival back in town. And I happen to believe in alternative energy."

A hand shot up from Blair's side, shutting him up. She only just realized it was her own. "No. Not at the benefit. What are you doing _here_? In Manhattan? In the United States?"

Momentary silence and Chuck shuffled around pacing. He rubbed his chin. "I know I owe a lot to you. I just wasn't sure I'd every have the opportunity to explain myself, or have the slim chance that you would care to listen."

"So you didn't know I was here?" Blair crossed her arms, her voice frosty. She hadn't intended to get angry so soon, but the bottled up emotions stirring in her chest slowly began to release.

He shook his head. "I saw you avoiding me through the crowd." Another misplaced chuckle from him.

Blair shrugged. "I don't know what more you expected of me."

The pacing stopped, and Chuck stood solemnly staring straight into her. Deep down into her, where it hurt. She had to advert her eyes or risk losing it all right then. Embarrassed, her face grew hot and her palms began to sweat into the beaded silk of her clutch. This display continued for longer than she could bear. Finally, she frustratingly squirmed in her heels. "What?" Short and demanding.

"You're luminous." He purred.

This wasn't supposed to happen. She was the horse driver here, not the damn trick pony. The shots were hers to call. And the emotions built up again. "Don't. You aren't allowed to say that to me."

"Aren't I? I apologize if I overstepped any boundaries." He said it without a hint of sarcasm. Just genuine, heartfelt concern.

"You still haven't answered my question."

"I wasn't going to come back. When I boarded my jet at JFK, I was certain it would be my last time in the States altogether. I didn't have a destination, no plan. I just went. Ended up somewhere in the Ukraine. I was mindless. Soulless. I drifted from bar to bar, brothel to brothel in search of something. And I never found it..." He drifted off, eyes somewhere otherworldly.

Blair's stomach turned. Expectantly, while she was busy moving on and starting anew, he was drowning in scotch and fucking anything that winked. But she pressed on. "Th – then what happened?"

"Five years had passed. I was breathing, but I wasn't alive. I wanted to die. The world would've been better if I had just ended it all. Then one day, it came down to a choice. Either live or either die. I couldn't exist anymore in the middle. And I chose to live."

The moment death was discussed, Blair's eyes widened. Of course, she had scanned the papers and web feed constantly after breakfast every morning, looking for any headline that read "Billionaire industry heir found dead in the Krishna River." Or something of that taste. Carter noticed her searchings, and one day called her out. She said it was important for a lady to be "cultured" and informed with what was going on in the universe. And he actually bought it.

Chuck noticed her reaction. He simply nodded in agreement of the situation and continued. "I made my way to South Asia and met with a guru who set me on the path to sobriety. I made phone calls to people I hadn't contacted in years. I always underhandedly had ties with Bass Industries but I more or less had handed over everything to my advisers but mostly to Lily. She was surprised to hear from me, to say the least. I took the initiative to turn myself into rehabilitation in India, and I've been sober for three years."

"Why come back?" Blair blurted.

He shrugged irregularly. "Unfinished business," He saw the flash in Blair's eyes and quickly rephrased himself. "With the company. I knew my father would've never wanted what I chose. But I have to try to pick up the pieces. I have to start somewhere." This seemed to wrap up his explanation, as he shrugged again. His hand absentmindedly lifted and softly pushed her falling strap from her gown back on her shoulder, from her rigid shoulders. Electricity flowed from his single fingertip and jolted straight down to the marrow of her bones. Nights had gone wasted dreaming about that velvet, warm touch. And so simply it had returned. It was coming, and Blair knew there would be no way to control it once it stopped. The result of it all – the flood of emotions that was swelling into her made up eyes. Tears had been shed for Chuck Bass mercilessly as the years passed. But they would not be shed tonight, standing just inches away from his chest that she knew she would curl into like a child.

"I – I have to go. It was – interesting – to catch up with you." The inflection of her voice was unnatural and water based, as she attempted to brush past him.

He grabbed her hand, not forcefully, but pleadingly. She whipped around. In his eyes, she knew what he was thinking as his brow furrowed looking down at her abnormally tiny wrist. "Blair, wait."

In return, she jerked it away without much effort. Chuck's hand stayed still as if he were still holding hers. "I can't look at you anymore. I can't – I can't do anything. I just have to leave now."

"Just let it out, tell me what you're afraid of." This was a side she had never seen in Chuck. Another layer of another person, but certainly not the devilish, snide boy she had once fell in love with. His eyes begged her. Hers just filled up in return. What erupted from her next was purely induced by loss of control.

"You may have only been half alive out there, finding yourself. But back here, back with everything you left behind, you were _dead_. You're a goddamn ghost."

With this, his hand fell listlessly at his side. He opened his mouth dryly and tried just one more time. She turned away from him, staring back into indirect light of the ballroom.

"I just need a few more minutes – please."

Her lip grew thin. She knew what she was doing the moment she said it. "My husband is waiting for me." For whatever reason, she felt the need to draw out the word "husband".

A sharp intake of breath behind her. The words had dug into him like a carving knife, she knew. But surely he _knew_. Surely he had seen their wedding announcement published in the New York Times, Town and Country, not to mention USA Today and People magazine. It was the grandest affair the city had seen prior. A million dollar wedding. One that Blair had hated every moment of it. But surely Chuck _heard_. "Your husband… "

"Yes." Cold as stone.

Chuck's voice was even, but thick with density. Almost conclusive; Blair shuddered as he said, "Then you shouldn't keep him waiting."

She nodded. Without bothering to turn around, she whispered. "Goodbye, Chuck."

Faster than her heels could travel she exited the forbidden corridors of the exhibits, leaving a troubled man in her wake. She would find Carter by the presentations and the stage, talking and talking about a new brandy they were thinking of endorsing. He would kiss her on the cheek, but firmly so she knew he was weary in her long absence. They would excuse themselves and check their coats. The limo would be quiet and demure. And Carter would fall into his drunken coma on the opposite side of the bed, without so much as taking his dress shoes off. Blair would cry herself to sleep. But not before she heard a final voice behind her.

"Good evening, Blair."

* * *

Short, I know. But the next chapter is so SUPER PACKED, promise. The reviews were GREAT by the way. Every time I got a notification to my email, it just made my day :) keep em' coming! I love feedback. Hope you had the most dysfunctional, fattening and tacky Christmas.

Xoxo.


	4. IV

_Notes from the missing author - _A million apologies for the major hiatus, friends. But the bitch is back.

I don't own anything. Except a severe obsession with a certain Bass.

It was not your fault, but mine.  
And it was your heart on the line.  
I really fucked it up this time, didn't I, my dear?  
_- Little Lion Man_, Mumford and Sons

* * *

A view of the world couldn't compare to the treasures one could find in the streets of New York City.

Though it had been nine years since he last saw the sun rising on the top of the Empire State Building, he hadn't forgotten. Little old New York; he was home.

Chuck Bass had returned to Manhattan.

Of course, Chuck himself knew this, being the face that stared back at him from every major newspaper west of the Williamsburg Bridge. They spread out on his coffee table like a fan. All bore the same exaggerated title, or some variation of it.

_Young Titan Rises From The Grave, Returns Unexpectedly_

_Missing Heir Returns From Decade Long Hiatus_

_Where In The World Has Bass Been Hiding?_

When the boxes upon boxes upon boxes of mail that had accumulated over the last nine years arrived that morning fashionably at eight o'clock, Chuck noticed immediately the most recent additions to the post in the black and white newspapers that sat on top of it all. He couldn't help but laugh. At the fact that he still had it after nine years, and the fact that the New Yorker didn't have any other news worthy of a front page spread other than him stepping off a plane.

He tipped the three mail carriers generously, and returned to his Philippine Alamid coffee blend. He bought enough pounds of the beans to last a lifetime from his voyage in and around the cities of Makati and Taguig. His mornings had since been enhanced with the single best cup of Joe he'd ever sipped. It sure as hell beat Starbucks.

Sitting on the new white wool layered structure sofa he'd just recently added to his living area, he began to sort through the muddle of mail that cluttered before him like in the backroom of a post office. It took him an hour, and he had thrown out ninety percent of anything without even so much as ripping the envelope with his gold letter cutter. Most of it was junk mail, a few advertisements here and there, people begging for charity, endorsement deals that had long been closed. Ready to give up altogether and call for the servicemen to come take the boxes of unopened envelopes and packages away, he stumbled across a magazine that got strewn to the wayside. Signature – the new one and only source into the fabulous lives of Manhattan's elite. He pulled it out of the mess and held it up in front of him, coffee cup to his lips.

Seconds later he would slam his cup down on the glass tabletop, amorphous hitting amorphous.

They were picture perfect pristine. Black and white and glossy. She was lovelier than the word itself, beaming and laughing, in a dress designed by her mother and holding up a flute of the finest champagne in the city. A pearl dotted veil rested upon her brunette up do. And a magnificent ring positioned just as to show how on top of the world she was. And there he was, in a tuxedo, wearing an expression similar to hers. He was Carter Baizen.

Chuck froze.

He double took, and then triple took until finally the magazine cover was inches from his stunned face.

Carter Baizen, in the flesh. Or rather, in print.

The cursive font at the bottom of the cover offered its congratulations to "Mr. Baizen and Mrs. Waldorf-Baizen". His heart lightened when he saw the hyphenation bridging the gap between her last name's and Carter's. She was, first and foremost, Blair Waldorf.

Still, it was _Carter _fucking _Baizen_. An old rival, whom he presumed to be gambling away the little bit of money his parents threw at him and making out with drunken underage Canadians somewhere across the country's border. But within the pages of the magazine he held, it was revealed that Carter was apparently now the co- founder and CEO of a wine and liquor company founded right here in New York. If Chuck had given an ounce of a damn about Carter, he would admire his achievements. But he didn't.

How had this catastrophe of nuptials happened?

The last time he had even seen Carter was with a bloody nose newly acquired from Nate at cotillion. He'd lost all of society's respect from there forth. How had he risen from the ashes so seamlessly?

He didn't know why this was impacting him so just now. He never intended on seeing Blair Waldorf again, much less caring about her affairs. But the stars had aligned or rather, he had aligned himself. Into a perfected gentleman of his former self. If he said it was completely for his own sake, he would be telling lies. After all he had been through, all he had conquered; he never expected to be taken down by Carter Baizen of all the men in Manhattan. It was enough to drive a man to drink.

But Chuck placed the dated magazine aside, and breathed into his fist.

Seconds later, he was rolling himself a joint. Completely natural, rid of all toxins. And after a few minutes, he was taking the initial puff. He let it fill his system, rushing in and out of his heavy lungs. Almost immediately, he felt the slightest of comforts. But it wasn't enough to wash her away.

"Pull yourself together, Bass." Chuck heaved to himself.

Halfway through burning paper, Chuck with his eyes closed heard a knock at the door. Sitting up abruptly, he carefully set the joint in an ashtray and crossed the living space to the door.

"Mr. Bass, sorry to bother you, but this just arrived for you." One of the three nervous hotel servicers held something out in his sweaty palm.

It was the latest issue of Signature magazine.

And on the cover, staring him directly in the face was Blair Waldorf-Baizen. She was beaming in the flashbulbs, looking over her shoulder the way she was born to in that dress that he would never forget.

Chuck didn't tear his eyes away from it. He shoved his hand into his robe pocket and gave the boy whatever money was in it. Studying the magazine carefully, he returned to his joint. Blair really had become the queen of Manhattan, and she had the cover to prove it. He rubbed his fingers against the lamination while taking another puff of his hash. Something, as beautiful as that something was, was off. She was smiling a dazzling smile, but her eyes Chuck didn't believe. They were strained, forced. Chuck instantly felt sad as he gazed into the brown eyes he used to stare in for hours at a time. It was as if she was screaming for something through the cameras. Chuck couldn't pinpoint exactly what, but it made him load another roll in spite of it.

Once fulfilled, Chuck took a long, hot shower, followed by a long, cold look at himself in the mirror.

He would just have to accept his life without Blair as its main factor. Certain for success, as he had done it for the last nine years. But it was astonishing how seeing her face just one more time threw him back into his same old heart.

There was a knocking at the door.

Assuming the servicer had forgotten yet another piece of his postage, with a crisp Cleveland in his coat pocket, he exited his bedroom and opened the door.

If seeing her face once threw him back into his same old heart, seeing her twice was breaking it.

* * *

"You are the last person I expected." He toyed nervously with his words, opening the door wide and inviting.

Blair raised her eyebrows. She kept her smile polite, thin. "I could say the same about you, I suppose." It was hard to believe, even for herself, that she was standing there. What possessed her to even fathom the idea of coming was something dark and twisted in structure. She fiddled with the idea for hours. It was the perfect mistake. Nanette took a day to go visit her aunt in Queens. The children were at school and daysitting. And Carter was at the office. A full day alone with nothing but her thoughts. A dangerous combination, to say the least. Once she had convinced herself to just _ride by _the Palace hotel, she spent the next hour devouring her closet for something appropriate to wear. It came between a vintage red Dolce and Gabbana and a casual blue Barlow dress. Chuck always liked her in red. She chose the blue.

For extra precaution, she told Tony, her driver, to drop her off four blocks up at The Russian Tea Room. Just a little white lie; she was to be having drinks with Naomi and Lyda and she would call when she needed his services again. The instant the black tailpipes of the limo were out of sight, she hailed a cab. Her dark Oliver Peoples sunglasses scanned the sidewalk for any observers. The coast was clear. It took her three times up and down the elevator to muster up the courage and strength knock on the hard oak door, embossed with a silver plaque with a single 'B' engraved into it.

Yet here she stood.

Awkward and vulnerable, biting her lip so hard she feared she'd draw blood. And there he stood, in a smoking jacket and black slacks, looking like someone even James Dean would desire to be.

No one spoke for a moment. Blair could hear Frank Sinatra singing softly from somewhere in the penthouse.

"Are you going to invite me in?" Blair asked, eyebrows raised, half expecting him to tell her to sod off.

Chuck hastened himself backwards, and arm sweeping, nodded. "Oh yes, of course. Please."

She swept past him taking in her surroundings. Bittersweet nostalgia as she thought of the countless nights she'd spent here. She'd practically lived here. But as the seasons had, the space had changed. Lily must've called her interior designer on Chuck's orders. Oranges, grays and browns were replaced with black, white and silver. The bricked walls were white washed. Beautiful abstract paintings hung on every available wall space. Most notably, his palatial bar was empty. Completely empty.

In place of alcohol were books.

She could still smell the freshness of the paint.

And marijuana.

Coughing slightly, she waved her hand in front of her face. "It smells like a college dorm room in here." Her eye spotted the remains of a blunt still smoking in its gold flaked ashtray. She rounded on Chuck, eyes flickering. "Sober for three years, are you? I should have known that was a bluff." Her head shaking and condescending voice made Chuck rush to his own rescue.

"It's pure cannabis, no additives. The kashra at the clinic in India said that it would make the transition to sobriety easier." His words stumbled out, itching to satisfy Blair and her hidden disappointment.

"Well, you've certainly redecorated. You really have to tell me who you hired to do all of this work, I've been meaning to redecorate my dining room- "

Chuck cut her off, leaning against the wall, his black robe contrasting against the white. "Why are you here, Blair?"

"Um – well, I – I was in the neighborhood. My daughter Alexis goes to the girl's school two blocks over."

"Come on, Blair. You know what I mean. Why are you _here_?"

Blair suddenly felt foolish. He was seeing right through her, because she knew she was transparent to him. "Can't an old friend visit another?"

He shrugged slightly, brushing by her to make his way to his spot on the couch. . "Sure, if we were ever friends. Want a hit?"

She had to admit, the outstretched roll of paper and bud was tempting. But she was far too old for lighting up before noon, in a place she had no business being. That was reserved for her former sixteen-year-old self. So she declined. "I'm fine, for the moment. Thank you."

"Suit yourself. Please, sit." With a wave of his hand, Blair carefully set her _ bag on the structured coffee table, resting her hands on her knees.

She licked her lips hesitantly. "We really didn't a chance to talk last night at the Benefit." It sounded

Chuck let a raspy chuckle escape, scratching the side of his nose. "Yes, the memory of you more or less running away from me is still prevalent."

Blair just blinked. "Can you honestly blame me?"

"No, I honestly can't."

"You just frightened me a little. I wasn't – I mean, you know, I didn't know you were going to be there. Or here, in Manhattan. Or anywhere, for that matter." There was a nervous quality to her voice that Blair couldn't quite pinpoint. It was a quality that she hadn't noticed in eight years.

_I never meant to frighten you. _"As I said, it was a disclosed decision."

Blair scoffed at his coldness. Suddenly she became aware that, in the course of their conversation, she was leaning into him. Resting herself on her hands, her legs slightly parted. The instant this was realized, she crossed one leg tightly over the other, leaning to the other edge of the chaise. "You make it sound so impassive."

"I can assure you it wasn't." Chuck's eyes flashed as he flicked the lighter's tip to the end of his blunt.

The blend of bud and Burberry cologne filled her senses. Maybe it was this stimulation that possessed her to ask what she did next. "Did you ever think of me?" She regretted it before she even finished speaking.

"Every day."

Chuck let the smoke fog out of his mouth, making direct eye contact with a taken aback Blair.

_Fuck. _"Can you pass me that?"

He couldn't help but laugh and nod. The way Blair was staring timidly at the stick he held out at her reminded him of freshman year of high school. When they were in a similar situation at Margaret Motherwell's party at her brownstone in Chelsea, and Chuck offered Blair her first smoke. Granted, things were different back then. Simpler, but complicated all the same. Blair was in the throes of love with Nate. To him she was his best friend's girl. But still, it was cute the way she held the pipe up to her mouth, looking up at him occasionally to see if she was doing it correctly. It was cute now.

Blair brought the smoking blunt to her lips, and inhaled slowly. She let it fill her lungs, rest for a moment, before blowing it back out. Instantly, she was coughing into her hand, violently and breathlessly. She'd forgotten how bad she was at this.

Almost automatically, Chuck rose and crossed to his once legendary bar and took out a glass. He stuck it under the sink and let the cool water rise to the top. Returning it to Blair, she was extremely grateful. And now quite light headed. Too hesitant to sit back down, Chuck walked around the space. He wondered aloud.

"Would it be insensitive if I were to ask you the same question?"

Blair offered the blunt back to Chuck, with a face that would say she had just donated money to charity, certainly not smoked a doobie. "It would be very insensitive to. I am a married woman." The

"A married woman to Carter Baizen."

"So you know."

"Are you happy?"

"Wh – what do you mean?"

"It's a simple question. Are you happy with him?"

Their eyes were locked, and Blair lied through her burgundy smile. "Yes."

"That's all I need to know."

Blair wanted to say more. God knows she would if she could see the outcome, the fallout that would inevitably happen if she listened to her pesky, punchdrunk heart and spoke the truth. What she would say, to an exact extent, she was unsure. Somewhere along the lines of 'I don't go a minute without seeing your face' and 'I want to castrate you for leaving me alone this way', she figured in the muddle of it all Chuck would understand. But Chuck was not her authority. Chuck was not her husband. The vows she made till' death do us part or whatever to Carter were not something she could easily stray away from. And neither was the grasp of his hands around her throat. It had never gone so far as that with Carter, she counted her blessings, but she dared not test that theory. A few minutes had passed and in the matter of these moments, Blair felt the weight of the world lift of her shoulders almost effortlessly. She was floating – well, floating as much as one could while at the same time sinking into the couch. The marijuana performed its magic, the pheromones were releasing, and Blair Waldorf-Baizen succumbed to the high. She wasn't baked exactly – that came from a few Saturdays in the summertime when the batch of them would sit on the beach at Chuck's summer home in the Hamptons, passing around a pipe and rolling around in the sand. She hadn't been like that since junior year of high school. No – it was a gentile high, just enough to relax and lose herself slightly in his brown eyes.

"Do you want me to go?" She stated dreamily, really, really hoping for negative.

Chuck hadn't yet smiled, but almost immediately shook his head firmly. "Only if you wish to."

Out of the corner of her glazed eyes, she noticed a piece of string tied to his right wrist. Red and thin, twisted loosely into a knot. "Taken up Kabbalah have you? I never pegged you for the religious type." Blair sighed humorously, forgetting the last moment as quickly as the next passed.

He furrowed his brow in confusion, pushing back his sleeve slightly just to figure out how he had all of a sudden appeared interested in Jewish mysticism. His Pokati bracelet – it's only significance was that it was made from a single piece of string, woven thread from the holy robes from the Hindi guru. Its purpose was to always remind him of how strong he was, whatever that reminder need be for. He recalled staring at it as he fell asleep late the night before.

For one reason or another, his cheeks reddened, as he fumbled around about how to describe it. "Well – this is my Pokati bracelet. It was a gift, a gift w- when I completed my journey to sobriety."

Blair's heart unwillingly melted. The genuine vulnerability was a side she'd rarely seen in Chuck. He twisted it around his wrist without much purpose, lost in his thoughts about India and what not.

She brought the joint to her lips once more and inhaled deeper, a little sophisticated this time. Less like an awkward teenager at her first bake. More like a woman who was studying the man she'd once loved. Chuck looked up finally, and Blair could tell he was a little embarrassed.

"I think it suits you." Blair reassured him.

This made Chuck chuckle. "Red's your color, not mine." He made his way back to the end of the couch opposite Blair's. It wasn't yet ten o'clock in the morning, and here they were. He still wasn't sure what her purpose was in being here, and he was sure she hadn't the slightest idea herself. The way she kept looking around the room, as if they were in the company of others, as if she was waiting for the walls to fall down. A slight nervousness he detected, which he completely felt as well. They were waiting to see who broke first.

"I know," Blair chided, crossing her legs indignantly. "That's why I wore blue."

With her smile, the sun shone a little brighter through the draperies.

* * *

"A long day at the office."

Those were the last words Blair heard her husband say earlier that morning, regarding the day and how long he would be downtown. At least, she was semi-certain that he said that. That was around the time she began juggling her thoughts about a visit to the Palace Hotel. Carter was a business man – an exceptionally successful businessman at that. Late nights at the office were not only a given, but customary. Blair was determined not to think about his whereabouts, if they turned out to be falsely led to the office. But sometimes, in the dead of night, when Blair allowed her mind to aimlessly wonder where it pleased, she wondered. Who he was with, what they were doing. If they were doing it better than the pair of them did. But at the end of the day, or rather night, she concluded that she was still his wife. Whoever else was involved deemed rather insignificant in comparison to the name she had made for herself. With his behind it, of course. After the hyphen.

But now, the tables had turned. Here she was, tapping the tips of her nails against the elevator rail nervously as it rose to find her floor.

The time according to the clock in the lobby was 10:45 PM.

She hadn't intended for her little excursion to become an all day ordeal. But her intentions were blurred and out of focus from the smoke screen she peered through all afternoon and into the night. She coudn't help but feel a little silly. A little too ripe, no pun intended, to be acting so fresh. The minute she left the smoldering gaze of a Bass returned behind the glimmering mahogany doors, she remembered who she was and who she was expected to be. Truth be told, she was floating on air. The entire afternoon and well into dusk consisted of two young souls, passing endless rolled ones and reminiscing about the old days. To say she didn't have a wonderful time would be a dramatic lie. It was nice. He was nice. They were nice. But nice was all she would allow. And the carefree afternoon she hadn't flown by without consequences. Upon realizing that she would, indeed, not be needing her driver's assistance for a while without suspicion on his part, she called him. Things had grown a bit spontaneous at the Tea Room. The other ladies were just _dying _to see the matinee of the new musical that opened just last week. It was a weak tale, especially for her. But it fooled the driver. She gave him specific orders to swing by with Nanette and get the children, just in case the show wouldn't be out on time from across the city. She assumed he had, and that her oldest would be expectantly awake right now, waiting for her. How she would handle the interrogation was beyond her knowledge. For such a precocious little girl, she certainly had her wits about her. It was tiring and endearing all at the same time. More tiring now, however. Blair just didn't understand what had happened. She had the fullest intentions of spending a mere ten minutes, if that, downtown at The Palace. The quickest of catchups among two people who really had nothing that should be said. But seconds turned happily into hours as she progressively took off her heels, leaned against the plush backboard of the lounge, and allowed Chuck to make her laugh hysterically. A few times her fingers had brushed against the wrinkle of his shirt, and on no purpose at all did she playfully kick him. It was an accident, honestly. But though she kept such composure throughout, it wasn't without rebuttal. Inside all of his stories, jokes, advice and ramblings, Blair was aching inside. The kind of ache that made her want to slip the small extravagance of a wedding ring into her day bag, and rest her legs on his. The kind of ache that should be avoided altogether. It was maintainable though. And she made it through the afternoon in keeping her marriage pure. On her part, at least.

When she saw the time on her phone, it startled her. Like a sixteen-year-old realizing she was late for curfew. And that Daddy might be waiting up.

She was coming down from the foggy clouds. It was time to go.

Chuck, also disregarding time for the hours past, understood without questions. He nodded, called her a cab to take her home, and minutes later showed her to the door. There was something left in that room when they said their awkward goodbyes. Something that went unsaid. Blair supposed she wanted to say that today had been lovely. Instead, she wagged her fingers free of rhythm, and let the door separate them. Now, back to business.

Blair Waldorf would have wasted the day, wasting time and wasting her heart away as she had. Blair Waldorf-Baizen would never _dream _of it.

The familiar ding.

Her private floor of the building came into view as her reflection slid away with the glass elevator door. It was dark. She could hear the dull moan of the refrigerator from the kitchen to her right. Half expecting to be knocked down by a kindergartner, Blair braced herself for the sing-songy, "Mother!" But it never came. The foyer was dark, and with the flick of a switch, the dining room was too. And the living space. Nanette must have put them to bed.

Thank goodness for Nanette.

Blair tiredly and clumsily removed her heels and slung them from her fingers, and mounted the stairs with little energy. Sleep was welcoming. She was exhausted from pretending all day long that times were easy and she could so easily allow herself to get that close. That close to the perfection she fiend for since her younger, stupider days. She was older. But was she smarter?

She didn't want to test that theory.

Within moments of entering her palatial bedroom, she had left the dress in the dry cleaning basket, the shoes on the bathroom floor, and any sense of direction in the limousine that morning. Teeth brushed, hair brushed and tied back, and face washed, she let the weight of the world drag her to her bed. Where she climbed in, alone and curled in the plushness of the sheets. The place was quiet. And though the empty feet of mattress and linens behind her reminded her of Carter's absence, she hardly noticed. Her mind drifted to Chuck. What he was thinking, if he was dreaming, if she ever crossed his mind during either. These were dangerous thoughts.

Dangerous thoughts that turned into dangerous dreams as her damp eyes fluttered shut.

* * *

Review to your heart's content. Let's get it to triple digits, and I'll post V by the end of next week. Chuck and Blair forever. I don't roll on this Dan Humphery squat. Xoxo.


	5. V

_Notes from the author _- As promised, a new chapter up before the end of this week. You guys are great! Keep that feedback flowing.

I don't own anything. Except for a severe obsession with a certain Bass.

"I don't know why I'm scared.  
I've been here before.  
Every feeling, every word,  
I've imagined it all.  
You'll never know if you never try,  
To forgive your past and simply be mine."  
- _One and Only_, Adele

* * *

Days went by like sand pouring down the narrow glassway of an hourglass.

Absolutely nothing.

Of course, nothing had been established. When Blair exited The Palace Hotel some, sunglasses perched on the crook of her nose and adrenaline pumping through her veins, she had little expectations. Expectations maybe not, but she was definitely wishful thinking. Something she really should get a hold of. They said their goodbyes without any indication that they would ever speak again. This was completely purposeful; on both of their parts she was sure. Numbers weren't exchanged, Blackberry pins were kept in secret and there were certainly no invitations to brunch anytime soon. It wasn't as if she hadn't had one of the best days she could remember in recent times. Because she assuredly had. There just wasn't much of a point to the continuation. She was to become, what, _friends_ with Chuck? The moment she stepped out in public with him the rumors would soar faster than the papers out of their press. It just wasn't something that would be tolerated, least of all by her husband Carter. She cringed to even think of the repercussions cohorting with Chuck Bass would entail her to. And, being quite honest with herself, Blair knew she couldn't fake that kind of happiness for one more minute with Chuck. She couldn't pretend that she was living the New York City dream. She couldn't pretend that she was in the happiest of marriages. She couldn't pretend that every time Chuck spoke that she didn't want to kiss his mouth and hush him up.

The day after her rendezvous downtown was painstakingly difficult for Blair to adjust to.

Monotonous conversations with the other society women at lunch in Little Italy, an hour of shopping for a new pair of sling backs recently fabricated by YSL that were sure to be on the wish lists of every self-appointed fashionista in Long Island (that Blair was the first in Manhattan to possess) and a late afternoon massage in SoHo felt all too run of the mill in comparison to her afternoon just some 24 hours ago. She would give anything to go back and just stop time there. It seemed unfair and malicious that she couldn't.

But the sun set, and rose again, and set again, and continued in this pattern for two weeks straight.

And now she sat in the back of a limousine on the way to JFK, Belt Parkway whizzing by in the reflection of her Jee Vice sunglasses, she felt sad. Though this was hardly the occasion for ill feelings.

She was on her way to pick up Serena and Nate from the airport.

They hadn't heard, she was sure. It was never once mentioned whilst speaking with Serena on the phone or Skype. This was news that was sure to bring out questions any best friend would ask. Serena hadn't. Blair felt like she was going to throw up all morning, succeeding once just after breakfast. Her outfit was chosen with extra attention. Serena and Nate had to both see that she was perfectly fine. The way she always was. After countless debate with Nanette, she went with an Oscar de la Renta lace blouse and pink pleated Stella McCartney wide legged pants. Bright colors, no blacks or grays, because she was happy, remember?

As they pulled up to the baggage claim, Blair's jitters turned into pure excitement.

She loved her children dearly, Nanette, and in her own way Carter. And while she could tolerate the company of Shelby and Hensleigh and the other women she chose to associate with, the idea of spending a few carefree days with her friends, her real friends Serena and Nate, lifted Blair's fallen spirits. Even if just slightly.

Spotted, almost immediately. Serena stuck out like a golden thumb in the sea of black and navy suits that commuted in and out of the airport. Blair recognized the electric purple Tibi mini dress and Sonia Rykiel Dalmatian print blazer that Serena pulled off just perfectly, with Christian Louboutin boots to match. A few paparazzi who stood around the perimeter snapped their shots. A real New York City celebrity had returned, looking as California as ever.

The driver couldn't open her door fast enough.

"B!"

Blair and Serena skipped at each other, throwing arms around necks and holding back tears.

"Serena, it's been so long!"

They parted and Serena got a good look at Blair. Her eyes traced down Blair's frail, boney physique and Blair could practically read her thoughts. To her relief, Serena went about as if she never noticed.

"I know, I know. God, it's freezing, isn't it?" It was true. The high of the day was a mere 45 degrees, with a heavy wind chill. Blair ushered her into the limousine, feeling the bumps that came from being too cold arising on her forearms.

"Well, it is February in New York City. Or have you forgotten the season of winter entirely?" She chided jokingly, as Serena scooted farther into the limo. "Where's Nathaniel?"

Serena rolled her eyes. "He was checking the score on the Los Angeles Galaxy soccer game. I think he has a pool going with some of the guys he works with." She turned around in her seat and looked out the window. "Ah, there he is." Nate looked taller than Blair had remembered, tanner too, as to be expected from countless hours spent in the West Coast sun. He approached the limo, climbing inside, while the driver packed their entire luggage safely away in the trunk. For a four day excursion, Serena had brought six oversized and overstuffed suitcases. Nate brought one.

"Blair Waldorf, long time no see. Come here." Nate's pearly white grin came in closer as they embraced and he took his respectful seat next to his wife.

Blair cleared her throat and smiled. "Blair Waldorf-_Baizen_."

Something shifted in Nate's eyes and he avoided hers. "My mistake. Where is Carter anyway? Didn't want to join?"

Serena squeezed his knee and threw him a look that said, "Not now."

This was sure to be the first of many awkward moments to pass regarding the subject of her husband. She knew that Serena wasn't too fond of him, but Nate frankly couldn't stand him. Never could, from as far back as she could remember. Neither him nor Chuck.

There was that name again. The jitters returned.

"It's perfectly fine, Serena." Blair breezed, crossing her legs daintily. She focused her attention to Nate. "Carter is at the office, but he is meeting us for dinner tonight at Maialino in Gramercy. He just closed the deal to handle their adult beverage supply." Truthfully, she was bragging just a little bit. As much pain as her husband caused her, she was still wholeheartedly proud of the success he brought himself.

"That's wonderful." Serena smiled, as Nate tried to hide his rolling eyes.

Blair smiled back, but the smile faded as the limo drove them away from the airport. They were in the city now, even if it was just Brooklyn. Meaning within the next few hours, they would catch wind of the old news.

Serena spoke up again. "What's the New in York City?" The little play on words only stifled Blair more as her two best friends anxiously awaited her reply.

A deep breath, a casual smile and a permanent fixation to the passing buildings outside the window.

"Well, Fiona Ronaldo is on her third stint in rehab somewhere in Colorado. It really is such a scandal. A new shoe boutique opened across from our building that you just have to visit; their exclusive one of a kind wedges are too die for. I bought three pairs just last week for spring. Chuck Bass is back in town. Oh – Landon walked last week! It was adorable; Nanette recorded the whole thing."

_Fantastic, Blair. Could you be more transparent?_

They were silent and Blair glanced over to see them wearing matching looks of eternal shock.

Nate looked as though Blair had just slapped him across the face.

Serena brought her hand up to her mouth, covering it with her breath held.

_Great. _

Leaning out of Nate's cradled arm, Serena grabbed Blair's hand. Still in utter disbelief, as she could tell from her face. "Have you seen him?"

It was uncomfortable; the way Serena was rubbing Blair's hand. Like Chuck was Blair's long lost love who had returned home. Although that was the circumstances in its entirety, things had changed. She was married, had children, grew up. Chuck didn't belong to her anymore than she did to him. With the most happy-go-lucky of smiles, she pulled her hand out of Serena's grasp.

"No, no I haven't."

Serena uneasily glanced at Nate. He hadn't moved. "Does my mother know?"

It was beginning to feel a little stuffy in the cabin of the limo, even in the crisp February weather. She regretted the thick lace material of her blouse. Unwillingly, she nodded. "Yes, Lily knows. It's been sort of a big deal around here." That last part was said with little enthusiasm.

Silence.

The city blurred by, block by block. Blair knew, herself included, that everyone was wrapped up in their own thoughts. All pertaining to the topic at hand, being the Bass lost. She didn't know what to say to them, how to console them. It was a terrible way to begin the weekend. After a few breathless moments, Nate spoke for the first time since the news broke.

"He didn't call."

Those words really tore through Blair. She knew exactly how he was feeling.

"I know. He didn't call anyone. I think it was - " She would use Chuck's own words. "- A disclosed decision. He's trying to start over." Why was she sticking up for him? Honest impulse, she supposed.

Serena held her hand up, nose wrinkled in confusion. "Hang on, Blair. I thought you didn't see him."

_Damn it_. "I – I didn't! I mean, I _saw _him with my eyes but we didn't speak. He was at that Sunshine Guild Benefit two weeks ago. It was across the room – I had to go. You know how Carter gets." Her eyes flashed with Nate's.

"Two weeks ago! You've known for two weeks and never bothered to mention it?" Nate looked genuinely hurt. And he was directing it towards Blair. She was merely the messenger, not the best friend who sketched out nearly a decade ago and never was heard from again. Not knowing what to say or do, Blair shifted uncomfortably against the leather interior.

"How are _you _dealing?" Serena was leaning forward in that consoling, sympathetic way again. Blair wished she would just stop it all. This had turned into a bad Mandy Moore movie. Outside, the Long Island Expressway was turning into the Brooklyn Bridge. The skyline of Manhattan was towering ahead.

Breezily, Blair brushed a stray curl out of her eyes and shrugged. "There's nothing really to deal with."

She could tell by Serena's expression that she was reluctant to believe her. "Blair, you have to talk to him. We all – " She glanced at Nate. "- have to talk to him. This is when he needs us the most."

Blair was about to make up another excuse. Gosh, all of this lying was exhausting. And surely giving Blair premature stress lines on her forehead. Perhaps it would have been better to have Serena and Nate find out the way New York City intended them to – by casually walking by a newsstand and seeing his face on the cover of every society paper in the city. Even after two weeks had past, Chuck Bass still wasn't old news. The paparazzi now stayed permanently perched outside the Palace Hotel; another coincidental reason that Blair was not able to visit Chuck again. They were waiting, waiting for him to step out into the night and tear up the town as he once had. The alcohol, the drugs, the women. But he never did. The press was just embarrassing themselves at this point. Blair opened her mouth to speak, but Nate beat her to it.

"He made his choice, Serena."

There was no talk of Chuck Bass for the remainder of the ride to their hotel, The Carlyle Rosewood. It seemed peculiar that, giving Carter and Blair's penthouse had three guest suites, the two of them would be spending their stay in Manhattan in a hotel. A luxurious, state-of-the-art five star hotel that Blair arranged weeks prior. Upon hearing of their visit, Carter refused to allow them accommodations in his house. The old and daring Blair Waldorf would have scoffed at these requests, opening her door to them regardless of what her stubborn husband said. But this Blair knew better.

Serena brought up the scandal involving Fiona Ronaldo once they reached Manhattan soil, and Blair was greatly grateful for the change in subject. The two chatted like old biddies while Nate remained quiet next to Serena. When they reached the extravagant exterior of The Carlyle Rosewood, Blair said her goodbyes until dinner that evening.

Something about Nate's eyes stuck with Blair the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

"Explain to me why I have to go again."

Carter fidgeted against Blair's twisted grasp as she straightened his royal blue Hermès tie. It was seven-thirty; the car would be here any minute to take them to Lexington Avenue to meet Serena and Nate at Maialino. From the instant she stepped off of the elevator platform and into her penthouse, Carter hadn't stopped complaining. It took her three times asking him to get dressed in a suit. She was beginning to feel much more like his mother and less like his equal. Excuses were thrown about in the favor of him not attending. There was work that needed to be done at the office. Norman wanted to play poker. He would rather have dinner with Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt than have dinner with _them_. Blair didn't accept any one of them. He was going to come to this dinner, if all he did was sit and eat his food in silence. Which she much hoped he would do, as Carter didn't have much of a way with words. Especially around people he perpetually loathed.

"Because you are my husband, and they are my best friends and typically, couples do things like this together. Besides, we see your friends every night. Serena and Nate are only in town for a few days." Blair mumbled, knotting the finishing touches on the tie. In all of the hustle and bustle of making sure Carter was still coming to dinner, Blair barely had any time to get ready herself. Her outfit was decent, she supposed. Not very well thought out, but it was ready-to-wear so she threw it on without much deliberation. The final assembly was a printed Jason Wu number with royal blue Casadei pumps. It would have to do.

He scoffed. "_My _friends? Those are your friends too, Blair. Without those people you'd have nobody."

At this, Blair dropped the tie and held her hands up. She didn't know what pushed her to the brink of argument with Carter, as she rarely liked him angry. But with the day she had and the conversation in the limo earlier that afternoon, it just slipped out. "Without _these _people, I have nobody. Look, if you don't want to come, Nanette will cook you dinner here. I'm tired of arguing." With that, she exited the bedroom.

She half-expected him to come after her, but much to her thanks, that shut him up. Moments later, he grudgingly entered the living room where she was saying goodbye to Alexis. The half-sleeping, half-watching Nickelodeon princess was curled on the couch, Nanette at her side. Carter stood with his hands shoved in his slack pockets. This was his way of agreeing to join her for dinner.

The ride down 5th Avenue was tense. Carter, immediately upon taking his seat in the limo, began drinking. Suddenly, Blair regretted asking him to come at all. But she had to show them, prove to them that she was going to be just fine as she was. No intervention needed, especially if Charles had anything to do with it. Nate and Serena were as fairy tale ending as ever. She had to take back her reputation. The Flatiron District was approaching as quickly as the lights would take them. Soon, they would be stepping out into a Friday evening in the city, full of opportunity or monumental failure. Blair began to panic.

"Will you promise me you will behave?" Her voice was shaking. "Nate's a very prominent member of legislature, and his opinion of us could-"

"Mean less than fuck to me." Carter chuckled. The limo was pulling up to Maialino; outside the crowd of Lower East Side hopefuls was gathering in line for the chance at a table. They stood on an orange carpet, a black rope keeping them contained to the sidewalk. It seemed that in its third week of opening, Maialino had made quite the name for itself. This certainly was not the place for any spectacles.

The driver was getting out. "Carter, I'm begging you. Promise me you won't make a scene." She grabbed her husband's hand, eyes squeezed shut.

"If they will play nice with me, I will play nice back. But don't expect me to be kissing their asses all night. You'll be disappointed."

He yanked his hand out of her own and exited the vehicle. She followed suit.

The sea of city folk swarmed them, almost every one turning their head to get a peek at _the _Blair Waldorf-Baizen. How would they ever find - ?

"B! We're over here!"

Standing by the dimly lit entrance was Serena, accompanied by Nate. She was as chic as ever, returning to her true New York roots by donning an Eleanor Waldorf ready-to-wear collection sweater dress with brown tights and boots. Nate looked as handsome as any Calvin Klein model would dream to. Waving over the muddle of people, Blair grabbed Carter's tightly clamped fist and pulled him towards them.

Hugs and kisses were exchanged; the polite conversation one participates in at the beginning of a double dinner date. Carter didn't speak at all; he fiddled with his iPhone screen, appearing to have little interest in the three of them at all. Serena was the first to call on him.

"Carter, always a pleasure." Her wide, white smile was returned with zilch on Carter's end.

"You think so?" He chuckled under his breath, as Blair led them inside.

Maialino was everything Blair thought it would be. The most lavish of decor, modern yet classic. Wafts of salt based sea bass, braised rabbit and mint mushrooms filled the air, streaming out of the kitchens in the back and into the spacious, private booths surrounded by silk fabrics. They were led to the top out of three levels. The level that no amount of money could by; only a name could. Baizen was one of obvious importance. Dinner couldn't have taken a more awkward start. Hardly anything was said at all as bottles of Dolcetto were delivered to the table. The four of them poured over their menus, partially deciding on an entree and partially using it as an excuse for their silence. Blair finally decided on the spiced tomato cod and pine nuts. Once the appetizers of buffalo mozzarella arrived, and a few glasses of wine had passed through the three of them, they were chatting as they always had. Carter stayed glued to his cell phone. Peering down amidst all the carefreeness, Blair saw that he was texting Norman. He would snicker every so often, just so they could hear him.

And though her husband was as rude as ever, Blair was genuinely having a good time.

It wasn't until Nate mentioned how pathetic the Dodgers baseball season would be in comparison to the Yankees, that Carter opened his mouth.

"Almost as pathetic as Chuck Bass coming back to Manhattan."

The laughter died instantly. All heads of the table whipped to the smirking Baizen, who leaned back against the pillowed seat like a king on his throne. Blair's fork fell out of her hand and clattered loudly against the porcelain of her plate. Surely her ears had deceived her. But the faces of the two Archibalds confirmed her worst nightmare. Of course, Carter knew of Chuck's return. It was inevitable and only a foolish woman would believe otherwise. But it was never discussed. He hadn't so much as mentioned the name since they had been married. That had been many, many years ago. This wasn't happening.

Her face couldn't have reddened anymore. Blair feared she would set fire.

Serena was the first to break the silent table. "I'm sorry, Carter. I don't think it's pathetic at all for a man to take responsibility for his addictions -" She intentionally and with much sass glanced down at the nearly empty glass of hardened scotch that sat before him. "- and to get the help he needs." Lily must've filled in the puzzle pieces that Blair intentionally hid from them.

Carter laughed without so much as a hint of humor in his voice. He kept it low. "If you have something to say to me, you had better do it."

The room suddenly felt to Blair like she was on one of those rusty, spinning fair rides that the carnies just wouldn't stop at the traveling carnivals her father took her to as a girl. No matter how many dollar bills she held up in bribery. But this had to stop. "C-Carter, please don't do this."

"Oh, believe me. There are a lot of things that I would like to say to you." Serena's voice rose dangerously, as she threw her napkin down on the table. Nate was glaring equally as daunting at her snide husband from across the table. No one was stopping, even though Blair felt like she was choking on her own esophagus.

This only made Carter lean back inquisitively, wrapping his arm forcefully around Blair's sunken shoulders. "Well then, bitch, what's stopping you?"

That did it. Nate burst up from his seat like a misfired missile, the loud clatter and shaking of the dishes and bottles on the table drawing the attention of surrounding patrons. "Speak to my wife like that again and I'll put you in intensive care." Blair felt the eyes of the room on her. It wasn't stopping. She focused on breathing and adverted her eyes to her shaking hands in her lap. Serena stood up too, only to calm down her fuming husband.

"Speak to me like that again and I'll have you thrown out into the streets like garbage." If there was one thing Blair knew Carter loved, it was demonstrating his power. With his head cocked to the side, and the slimiest of smirks, she knew he was loving every second of this. And she was trapped. Underneath his rigid arm, in the booth, in this restaurant. In this marriage. Breathing was becoming difficult. If she didn't get to the bathroom within the next second, she was going to lose it everywhere. And not just the forty dollar dinner she barely touched.

"I - I need to go to the bathroom." Blair gulped dryly, reaching for Carter's chest blindly and pushing against it for him to let her out. Out of nowhere, Serena grabbed Blair's trembling wrist.

"_Eat_, Blair." She said sternly, like a mother condoning a child.

"Yes, eat Blair." Carter mocked, amusing and light, and raised his eyebrows in the most taunting of manners.

After a few moments of the purest tension Blair had ever felt, Serena and an unwilling Nate reclaimed their seats at the table. The quiet hush that spread over the surrounding booths was replaced with returned conversations and mischievous whispers. A few waitresses and wine boys that had stopped to catch a glimpse of the spectacle returned to their duties. One particular waiter approached the heated table cautiously, regarding Carter.

"Mr. Baizen, is everything satisfactory for you and your party this evening?"

With this, Carter took his wallet out of his coat pocket and pulled out two twenty dollar bills. He placed it strategically in the hired help's hand. "Certainly. Can we please get the check? All on my card."

There was a moment of rebuttal from Nate; a look from Serena kept him quiet, but vehement in his seat.

Though it was played out entirely improperly and she was as embarrassed as she had ever been, a part of Blair was glad that Carter had called for the check. She didn't know how much longer she could sit in the catastrophe.

The instant Carter's black card was swiped and returned, Nate was out of the booth and halfway to the sidewalk to hail a cab. A speechless Serena, a haughty Carter and a mortified Blair followed suit, ashamed to even show her face. Her efforts were pointless and she knew it; everyone in the room already knew who she was before the horrid display at dinner. Once outside, Blair spotted Nate halfway down the sidewalk, a taxi waiting to take them away from her. Carter, always the prepared one, had apparently texted the driver before the whole sordid deal happened. He was already in the limo, the driver standing at the opened door ready to whisk her off.

She didn't have much time. "Serena - wait."

The blond whipped her hair and turned around.

Tears were beginning to spring up in Blair's eyes. This was not how she wanted the night to end at all. It was destroyed so quickly, right before her eyes. And she could've done nothing to stop the wrecking train.

"I am so, so sorry for what happened in there. Carter had too much to drink, he didn't even know what he was saying - "

This was where Serena ended Blair's pleas. She cut her off, reaching her boiling point. "Blair, why are you still standing up for him! He's not some stupid teenage kid anymore! He's an adult, he's responsible for what he does and what he says. Not you."

Everything she said was true; Blair hung her head, unsure of what to say next.

"I know. I know, Serena. I just - " The tears were pouring freely at this point. "Will you please just tell Nate that I'm sorry it ended this way? Please? I couldn't bear the thought of you two not speaking to me."

Serena shook her head and suddenly embraced her tiny, weeping best friend. "Honey, you didn't do anything wrong. Do you hear me? Nothing." She smoothed down Blair's hair that the city was tossing in the wind.

Blair nodded, but still far from reassured. "Am I still invited to Eric's birthday party tomorrow night?" She couldn't help but let out a watery laugh. Serena giggled too and nodded.

"Of course you are, B. Wouldn't be the same without you." Looking past Blair to the parked limousine, Serena's smile wavered. "But I don't know if Carter coming would be such a stellar idea. I think Nate needs a little time to cool off."

With humility, Blair nodded again. She borderline hated her own husband for what he'd done tonight. And now she would be attending Eric's party alone, sure to be the social event of the upcoming weekend. Photographers from every society magazine would be at the entrance, taking pictures of a lone Waldorf-Baizen. People would talk. She just hoped they wouldn't talk to Chuck. "That's understood."

The cab driver honked the horn abruptly behind Serena, tapping on his watch. Desperately, she grabbed Blair's arm. "Listen to me. If anything happens tonight - I mean, with Carter, you'll call me. Will you promise me that?"

"Oh, well. It's highly unlikely. He's probably already passed out in there now. But I promise." Blair did her best to smile.

They said their goodbyes, for the night at least. She waved as Serena entered the cab and watched it sadly drive away.

An overwhelming feeling of dread filled Blair as she made her way to her own carriage. Climbing in, she saw that Carter was very much awake.

By the look on his face, Blair concluded that she had just lied to her best friend.

* * *

Next chapter is promised to remind you why I rated this story mature. This story is getting so many hits, I am fascinated with every single one of you. Thank you so much for making it worth my time. Reviews would be extra lovely, if you are feeling generous. Would make my day indeed :)

P.S. - if any of you are Harry Potter fans, I have a story that I'm trying out on my author's page. Read it and let me know what you think!

Xoxo.


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